


let's make a toast like a thunder

by youngjo



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angry Sex, Biting, Blow Jobs, Boot Riding, Breathplay, Choking, Facials, Fingering, Glove Kink, Hand Jobs, Hand Worship, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Olive Oil as Lube, Orgasm Denial, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Riding, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Selfcest, Semi-Public Sex, Spanking, Thigh Marking, authority kink, cock stepping, halateez, light degradation, mentions of minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22144471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngjo/pseuds/youngjo
Summary: They were, in essence, ghosts; spirits with a physical form and none of the qualities that made themhuman.Being face to face with a physical copy only posed one question—how well do youreallyknow yourself?
Relationships: Ateez/Dark!Ateez, Hongjoong/Hala!Hongjoong, Jongho/Hala!Jongho, Mingi/Hala!Mingi, San/Hala!San, Seonghwa/Hala!Seonghwa, Wooyoung/Hala!Wooyoung, Yeosang/Hala!Yeosang, Yunho/Hala!Yunho
Comments: 220
Kudos: 580





	1. to make you sing

**Author's Note:**

> sooooo answer haha
> 
> I started writing this before answer and then the mv drove me to complete it  
> I'm writing one for every member so ,, stay tuned for that 
> 
> this is mostly lore but first part is yeosang 👌  
> tags will be updated with each new chapter!

They were, by vague definition, ghosts. Shadow versions born from their souls splitting into two, brought about by touching the fabled Treasure without proper permission. They’d been cut right down the middle and, yes, it’d hurt— _ a fucking lot. _ After all, having your soul sliced with a white-hot knife wasn’t supposed to feel great.

Now, Yeosang didn’t particularly agree with the term ‘ghost,’ if you were to ask his opinion. Ghosts were meant to be intangible beings built on the emotions carried to the afterlife when they passed. They were not supposed to harbor a physical form capable of touching and interacting with everything in arms reach. Honestly, Yeosang thought them worse than ghosts. They carried all the physical traits of humans paired with the powers of otherworldly beings, allowing them to pass through walls  _ and _ steal most of their alcohol reserves. 

The worst part, however, came in how attached their ‘dark versions’ had grown to them.

Yeosang could barely go to the washroom without his other half, who he had unaffectionately named  _ Yeo, _ trailing after him. Yeo was every single devious thought and drop of mischief Yeosang had ever experienced concentrated into human form … which was a lot when you were a pirate. All of them were, actually. Hongjoong had assumed they’d be complete opposites of their own personalities and thus easier to contain but, well, fate had a habit of not being kind to them. The scale went from  _ most to least _ chaotic, and unfortunately Yeo sat at the second rung from the top.

(It would not be wise to get Yeosang started on who claimed number one.)

Contrary to Yeosang’s delight in planning, Yeo enjoyed spontaneity. He had a habit of appearing whenever Yeosang least expected or least wanted him to. 

Take tonight for example.

Seated at the table with Yunho and Mingi, they were enjoying a light meal when Yeosang felt fingertips glide along his left thigh. His hand, halfway to his mouth, halted immediately. Yunho and Mingi, still chattering away, were completely oblivious to his momentary hesitation. Yeosang knew what, or rather  _ who,  _ it was without even needing to look. He still did though, pretending to readjust the tattered tablecloth they felt fancy enough to use.

Yeo peeked up at him through one of the holes, unnatural blue eyes paired with the devious smirk on his lips. Glittering gold in the corner of Yeo’s lip caught his attention, and Yeosang realized his other half had spawned with a new piercing this time.  _ Must’ve been nice to change your physical appearance with minimal effort. _

‘What the hell are you doing?’ He mouthed.

Yeo’s brow raised but he didn’t answer verbally. Rather, his hand trailed from Yeosang’s thigh to press experimentally against his groin. His mouth went dry as the realization set in, and Yeosang pushed at the other man’s knee to try and edge him back.

“Are you alright, Sangie?” Mingi called, panic sparking along his skin.

Yeosang visibly jumped, hand holding his spoon coming down with a little too much force. “I’m fine, sorry. Just … daydreaming.”

Assuming they hadn’t all slept with each other before would be foolish. Being trapped on the high seas for months on end resulted in many pent up frustrations being taken out on each other, but something about Yeosang having the spitting image of himself kneeling between his legs made him justifiably nervous.

(Oh, if only he knew the shenanigans going on behind closed doors.)

Luckily for him, Yunho and Mingi accepted his answer and went back to talking about their morning duties. Yeo chose this moment to pinch his calf in punishment, Yeosang gritting his teeth to hold back the hiss he desperately wanted to release. The hand still nestled against his crotch sought out his length, fingers parting to squeeze either side of his shaft gently. A strange mix of apprehension and excitement crawled up his body as he finally realized what Yeo was planning.

Yeosang sat back again, dropping his spoon into his half-eaten bowl of soup. His eyes locked with Yeo’s again, the mischief clear upon his features. No matter how many times he’d seen the other half of his soul, he didn’t think he would ever get used to staring himself in the eye. For twins, such a thing was normal. But for someone who had grown up an only child … yeah, it was weird.

Was it wrong to sleep with the other half of your soul? Yeosang didn’t know, but it wasn’t like he could question morals given his profession.

_ Hadn’t stopped him the first few times either. _

But now was not the time to ponder over morality and other mundane things, not when there were hands working to untie his pants. Yeo’s fingers brushed against his navel as he sought his prize, forcing the smallest of gasps out of him. They found what they were looking for with ease—Yeo knew Yeosang’s body better than anyone after all—and freed him from the confines of his work pants. Cool air rushed over his shaft and Yeosang worried at his lip; he was grateful he’d decided to sit at the other end of the table that evening.

Yeo fisted his cock and began stroking it hard and fast, not having a care in the world for comfort. The man’s other hand pressed against Yeosang’s thigh, forcing them apart so he could better slide between them. Yeosang opted for biting his tongue instead, fist curling against the table as several sensations assaulted him suddenly. Neither of his fellow pirates noticed, thank the heavens, and he played it off like he was reaching for his drink. 

Perhaps his luck came in the form of Yeo’s clear impatience. He kissed at Yeosang’s tip, wet and sloppy. Yeosang felt a little dizzy from the amount of blood rushing to his lower half, feeling himself swell with every brush of Yeo’s rough fingers over his length. It took an embarrassingly small amount of time to get him at full attention, Yeosang squirming subtly in his seat. He could almost _ hear  _ the mocking laugh coming from his other half.

Yeosang set his drink back down. Mingi and Yunho, lost in their conversation, didn’t question how he hadn’t actually took a sip of his alcohol. Maybe it was for the best he hadn’t.

Yeo didn’t swallow him just yet, however. He prolonged it just enough to get Yeosang worked up and restless, kissing along his shaft and mouthing the side of his head lazily. His other hand eventually wiggled its way into his pants and cupped his balls, rolling them within his fingers. Yeosang sat back, allowing him a veiled view of the devious expression Yeo wore. 

Then, it happened.

Wetting his lips, Yeo _ finally  _ sucked the head of his cock into his mouth. A mix of hot and wet met him, Yeo’s tongue bumping against his slit. Yeosang bit his tongue to stave off the moan so dangerously close to escaping into the dining hall. His head snapped back,and if Mingi or Yunho squinted enough they would see the blush on his cheeks. 

“You sure you’re alright, Sangie?” Yunho called this time.

His head lolled to the side, glancing at Yunho and Mingi. “Y-yeah,” he managed, Yeo sliding further down. “Just … daydreaming a bit.”

“Oh?” Mingi perked up, and Yeosang realized his answer hadn’t been the smartest. “What about? Our destination? The Treasure? I wanna know!”

Yeo squeezed his balls in a teasing manner, tongue curling along his shaft as he took more and more of Yeosang into his mouth. The latter bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood, Yeosang’s hand flying under the table to tangle in Yeo’s hair; he pulled in warning but it did nothing to stop the other man’s advance. 

_ Think fast, Yeosang. _ “A-about our … destination?” It came out as a question, earning him a quizzical look from Yunho. “Our destination,” he said more firmly. “Such a small island? Not exactly a worthy place for such a powerful T-treasure.”

Yeo buried his nose in soft curls at that moment, Yeosang’s tip bumping the back of his throat. Yeosang’s other hand flew to his mouth, teeth sinking into the fleshy part of his palm to stifle the moan fighting its way out of him. Despite such a suspicious action, Yunho didn’t question it.

“That’s a good point!” Mingi replied. “It doesn’t really suit it, right?”

Yunho’s head tilted. “The opposite, in my opinion. You’d wanna hide it in a place where people wouldn’t think to look!”

“But what if people try to settle there because it’s so peaceful and inconspicuous?” Mingi questioned. Their attention shifted back to each other, the pair getting into a minor debate over his attempted diversion; it worked at least.

Meanwhile, Yeo moved back up, tongue swirling around the head of his cock while his fingers lightly traced the veins of his shaft. Yeosang’s fingers curled ever tighter in soft curls but Yeo continued, completely unbothered by it. They both knew Yeosang wasn’t trying to get him to stop anyway, despite his protests; the possibility that Yunho or Mingi could notice at any moment only added an element of excitement now churning in Yeosang’s stomach. 

His hips jumped involuntarily as Yeo began to bob his head with the same fervor he started with, not allowing Yeosang a moment’s peace. He leant forward out of necessity, bashing his elbow against the edge of the table as he did so. Yeosang barely managed to play it off and hunched over his food, the smell of soup heady and not at all welcome. But, it was the only thing he could think of to mask the expressions flashing across sharp features.

Yeo swallowed around him and he swore his soul sank to the bottom of the sea, fingers digging so deeply into the wooden table it was a miracle he didn’t receive splinters beneath his nails. It took every bit of willpower within him not to moan, teeth cutting through his lip and sending blood along his tongue. His other half, through their weird connection, felt this and groaned quietly. Yeosang should’ve been worried about his crewmates also in the room but, really, could he be blamed for not caring? 

It didn’t take long for him to cum, not when Yeo possessed the full skillset Yeosang himself proudly boasted. His orgasm crashed over him like the swelling waves of a storm, whole body shuddering as Yeo willingly drank everything he had to offer. Yeosang could do nothing more than stare at the table, vision hazy and unfocused as tremors of pleasure danced along his skin.

At length, Yeo pulled off of him, fingers rubbing circles into his thighs. After several moments of quiet panting he finally found enough strength to lean back, glaring at his alter ego through the tablecloth obscuring his face. 

_ ‘I’ll pay you back later,’ _ he mouthed, cheeks rosy in afterglow.

_ ‘Oh, I’m counting on it.’ _ Yeo accentuated the words with a wink.

Yunho cleared his throat, Yeosang tearing his attention away from the man beneath the table. Both Mingi and Yunho were standing by the door, their dinner mess cleaned up and their jackets pulled over their shoulders.

“We’re gonna head out for night duties. Are you … alright?” Yunho questioned.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, voice betraying its lack of air.

Yunho’s brow rose but he seemed to accept his answer, stepping into the hall. 

Mingi, however, did not. His eyes flicked between Yeosang’s face and the table and he knew immediately he had been caught. Not that he would get in trouble or anything.  _ (What could they do? Make him walk the plank?) _ But he knew Mingi couldn’t keep a secret to save his life; he would be the talk of the ship within the hour.

After moments of intense staring, the dark-haired pirate seemed to find his voice. 

“.... We eat on that you know,” Mingi said, leaving Yeosang staring after him with a scandalized expression. Then they were gone, swallowed up by the darkness of the hallway.

Under the table, Yeo laughed, and he resisted the urge to not-so-nicely kick his other half. His chair squeaked in protest as the man under the table pushed it back, allowing himself enough space to lean up in Yeosang’s lap. He met his alter ego’s satisfied expression with a downward curve of his own lips.

“You’re an absolute menace,” Yeosang grumbled.

“I’m part of you, remember?” He leaned up, their lips brushing. “I think I know who I got it from.”

Yeo reached up, cupping his cheeks so they could kiss. His tongue dipped into Yeosang’s mouth with rough insistence, the latter tasting himself upon the prodding muscle. The other man shifted so he was sitting in Yeosang’s lap, pressing their lengths together and kissing him until he was breathless. Yeo slipped a hand between their bodies, gripping them together, and Yeosang knew he would be in for a wild night.

He sent a silent prayer for whatever unlucky soul felt like wandering into the mess hall that evening.


	2. to woo the wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wooyoung won though, because Wooyoung always won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooyoung + rope bondage, handjobs, and orgasm denial

One would rightfully assume having a physical copy of yourself staring you in the face would be unsettling. They shared your face, your hair, your eyes—all of it. Yet, out of everyone in his crew, Wooyoung seemed to be the least bothered by it.

He was an attractive man, a fact that went without saying. Whenever they made landfall or acquired new temporary members, Wooyoung turned the most heads. Not just for his immaculate outfit, kept clean despite their days spent upon high seas and sandy shores, but for his true charm. His charisma contributed too, his ability to take control of a tavern with a single  _ hurrah! _ or loudly retold story earning him a swathe of fans across the oceans they sailed.

So, what exactly were the negatives in having another you running around?

Sure, the whole soul-splitting part hadn’t been the greatest. But Wooyoung wholeheartedly felt it was a small price to pay. He was the first to learn of all the amazing benefits too, actually. Which surprised no one when the information came out during a late night lunch, their ‘dark versions’ milling around the same location for lack of something to do. 

They couldn’t stray far, they discovered, their souls tethered by an invisible rope. Their souls depended on each other and, upon discovering this, opened a whole host of other questions they couldn’t locate answers for. Neither part of the pair could stray from each other for long, lest they wanted weak knees and hazy vision. Hongjoong was the first to propose masks for landfall supply runs— _ running around with someone who shares your face will draw too much attention. _ The hats came later, provided by the skilled hands of former hatter Jongho.

They became bodyguards, kinda.

Wooyoung was, in true Wooyoung fashion, the first to experiment a little. He loved pushing boundaries and trying out new things. Nothing came without some level of thrill when you were a pirate. They were stuck at sea for days, sometimes  _ weeks _ at a time anyway, so why not make the most of it?

Thank goodness his other half knew just how much of a mess he was already.

“Woo,” he began one day, “You’re kinda hot.”

His other half, currently occupying the entirety of Wooyoung’s bed, glanced up at him. “It would be a crime to share your features and not be, no?”

“An excellent answer!” Wooyoung replied. His attention flicked back to the wooden puzzle he’d been fiddling with—the puzzle he had been growing increasingly bored of the last five or so minutes. Could you blame him for stealing glances at Woo? Lying on his stomach, clad in Wooyoung’s sleep clothes, back ruffled just enough to reveal the dip of his spine … It was no wonder he couldn’t focus, nevermind the growing hardness in his pants.

Woo seemed to pick up on this; they were two parts of the same whole after all. His gaze softened, lips pursing ever so slightly. “You look a little flushed. Are you sick?”

Wooyoung’s tongue pushed into the corner of his mouth, eyes focused on Woo. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would,” Woo said, voice more deadpan than it should’ve been, and Wooyoung remembered his other half had consumed all of his sincerity.

So, Wooyoung smirked, bringing one knee up so he could sling an arm over it. “Why don’t you come find out?”

The other man hesitated, processing what Wooyoung had just said. Normally, he’d snap back with some sort of  _ I’m not a mindreader _ when … that’s almost exactly what he was. But this time he just watched, eyes calculating as the tension in the room only grew between them.

Wooyoung won though, because Wooyoung  _ always _ won.

Some small sliver of his brain worried over the morality of it but he’d never really cared about the rules of society. Besides, what kind of ruleset existed for fucking yourself? None, but Wooyoung was sure as hell going to be the one to write it.

The floor wasn’t ideal for fucking but Wooyoung had been taken in worse places. He eased Woo into it, full of reassurances and copious amounts of teasing. Woo lacked stamina and even for someone who could go multiple rounds in one night, Wooyoung had to tap out around six. His other half just laughed, and thus set in motion something that became so everyday that Wooyoung couldn’t imagine going a night without it.

The beauty in fucking yourself came later, however. Their ‘dark selves’ were manifestations of certain parts of them and, by extension, shared similar thoughts and feelings. Just vague brushes against their souls but enough to be noticed and acknowledged. 

So, the beauty of Woo came in his ability to know exactly what Wooyoung wanted. He knew Wooyoung enjoyed being treated a little rougher. He also knew no one else on their little ship could deliver in quite the way Woo could. He carried power that Wooyoung willingly submitted to. No one would know Wooyoung better than himself after all.

Once Woo overcame his serious nature, it was over.

(Wooyoung was certain he’d received help from chaotic clone number one too.)

Woo stood before him now, wearing nothing but Wooyoung’s waistcoat and his lips curled into a teasing smirk. One hand sat chin level, the other pressed against his hip as he admired his handiwork. He looked hotter than he had any right to, the flickering light of the lanterns around the room illuminating his cock proudly at attention. 

Wooyoung wanted to compliment him but he was a little impeded by the cloth stuffed into his mouth, put there by none other than Woo himself. A thread of rope crossed over top, tight enough to offer him something to lave if he wished, but loose enough so as not to hurt him. The rest of his body mimicked it, Woo having  _ borrowed _ a few sets of rope from their last hail port. 

From his neck to his ankles, Wooyoung sat bound upon his bed, skin crisscrossed prettily with rope black as night. His knees were drawn up, bent and tied together, and further secured to the pattern adorning his broad midriff. Woo was nice enough to bind his arms to the front at least, both wrists connected to a thicker section of rope just above his chest. Coiling down his body in snake-like fashion, the ropes ended where Woo had tied a small piece around the base of his shaft. Wooyoung felt as gorgeous as he looked … which was  _ absolutely devastating. _

“Look at you,” Woo murmured. His head tilted to the other side, eyes raking down the full expanse of Wooyoung’s body. “It’s a shame only I get to see you like this.”  _ But not really. _

Wooyoung watched him with open hunger. Being at the mercy of someone in such a vulnerable way turned him on beyond measure but it was also exactly what he wanted. His fingers flexed in response, Woo just smiling softly. The latter stepped closer, towering over him in a way that sent a little tingle down his spine. 

“You’re so pretty all trussed up for me,” he hummed, dropping to his knees before the bed. 

Wooyoung groaned, voice muffled behind his gag. 

Woo’s brow rose, his hands settling a mere finger length away from his ass. “Ah, I forgot how much you love compliments.” He reached out, giving Wooyoung’s tip a light flick; he squirmed in response. “You’re already so hard just from being tied up, hm? Such a filthy boy.”

Wooyoung swallowed against his gag, arms trembling with the need to reach out and touch. Being tied up added a new type of sensitivity to his body, amplifying sensations that normally wouldn’t affect him to such a degree. Here, at Woo’s mercy, they were multiplied tenfold. His hips jumped in response to his other half’s words, lids falling low and heavy.

Woo met his eyes with a level of uncaring that may have scared him were it not for this being a commonality. His hand snaked forward, pads of his fingers tracing down the whole of his length. A finger tugged lightly at the rope around his base, reminding Wooyoung of his position. Woo allowed his thumb to ghost along the underside while doing so, a feather-like touch that forced him to wiggle involuntarily for more. He listened, luckily for Wooyoung, and finally took his long-neglected length into his palm.

Another beauty of Woo came in their shared callouses from years spent working on the open sea. He gripped him with a welcome roughness, not a single trace of soft to be found, and Wooyoung ate it up like a dog in heat—he didn’t want soft anyway and Woo knew this too, hand moving up to purposefully squeeze at the head of his counterpart’s cock. Wooyoung groaned, the noise swallowed up by the ambiance of the room. Woo, however, wasted no time in calculating a rhythm. He spit upon Wooyoung’s length, a truly unattractive action in theory, and began to work him over. 

“I’m going to  _ ruin _ you one day,” Woo whispered, voice low and dangerous.

His hands curled into fists, nails in all their chipped splendor cutting into his palm as Woo brought him closer and closer to pleasure. Wooyoung’s back arched, giving clue he was close, and Woo stopped. The poor man cried out in upset as his orgasm was torn away from him, leaving him to rut uselessly against cool air.

“Aw, was poor little Wooyoung close? Pathetic.” Then he went back to stroking, taking a few moments to roll his palm over the tip of Wooyoung’s cock.

All Wooyoung could do was whimper as Woo proceeded to bring him close to the edge and steal it away from him each time. He couldn’t even close his eyes, for the latter immediately stopped his ministrations the moment he did so. Woo did not allow him a chance to lose himself to pleasure, keeping his focus one hundred percent on the man “gracious enough to give it to him,” as he so kindly put it. 

After about the eighth time of it happening, Woo let go of him completely, leaving Wooyoung to whine pathetically at his loss of touch. He watched his other half spit into his hand, a devious look on his face, before a finger nudged against his hole. Wooyoung’s mind had barely a second to process what was happening before Woo slipped it within, other hand traveling back to his now aching length. 

Wooyoung mewled, head falling back against the pillows he was propped within. Woo squeezed his shaft in warning and he forced his head back up, meeting those intense eyes once more. 

“Do it,” Woo commanded, crooking the finger inside of him. “I’m granting you permission. Come.” 

Wooyoung cried out, broken and desperate as Woo began to move his hand in a circular motion around his head. Sensitive and dripping with pre-come for nearly twenty minutes, it took only seconds for him to finally achieve the euphoria he’d been denied all evening. His head fell back once more but Woo did not punish him for it this time, instead allowing him to contrast the ropes along his skin with white. 

Woo eased the finger inside him out, seemingly changing his mind about what he’d been craving that night. Wooyoung’s head lolled forward, eyes heavy as he waited for what his other half may have planned. He rose, presenting the hand he’d used to bring Wooyoung to completion, and brought to his lips. 

“Watch me, Wooyoung; don’t take your eyes off of me even for a moment.”

And Wooyoung obeyed without question, watching Woo’s pink tongue dart out to slot perfectly between slim fingers. He took his sweet time cleaning the cum from his hand, movements languid, and Wooyoung could do nothing but groan at the erotic sight before him.

Once he was finished, Woo stepped onto the bed. His own length still stood at attention, slit glistening with a release dangerously close to happening. He stared down at Wooyoung with an eerie fondness. “Do you think you could handle this, my dear Wooyoung?”

The bound pirate nodded enthusiastically. 

“Good boy,” Woo hummed, leaning down. His hands cupped the back of Wooyoung’s head gently, finding the knot holding the rope in his mouth. “I’m going to untie you, and you’re going to sit there with your mouth open. Understand?”

Wooyoung nodded once more.

“Ah, such a good boy for me.” Woo tugged on the knot, removing the rope and cloth keeping Wooyoung’s sweet voice at bay. He took a moment to flex his jaw, Woo not scolding him for it, before allowing his tongue to loll from his mouth like an obedient puppy. Woo straightened back out with a dreamy sigh. “You’re such a good listener.”

Wooyoung watched with rapt interest as Woo began to stroke himself, breath escaping in tiny gasps. His brows knit together in concentration, and his tongue poked between his lips in a cute habit he’d picked up from someone else. He sat there obediently, content to relax against the pillows as he essentially watched himself work to get off. Which was … weird, but also really,  _ really _ hot.

At length, Woo’s own mouth fell open in a loud cry, and Wooyoung never grew tired of hearing such a pretty moan, even if it was his own. His jerking halted, lips quivering as he came over Wooyoung’s face. He closed his eyes as cum splashed against his forehead, his cheeks, his lips—everywhere. Wooyoung accepted it all willingly, some of it falling against his tongue; he swallowed it without question. 

When he opened his eyes again, they met Woo’s as he panted above him. His other half dropped to his knees upon the bed, weakly gripping Wooyoung’s elbow. 

“... You look so good,” the other man whispered.

Wooyoung winked. “Don’t look half bad yourself.”

Woo laughed under his breath, hands coming out to begin carefully untangling knots. “How was it?”

He hummed, stretching his arms out as became free. “Good, could use a little rougher treatment. Would rate a solid eight gold pieces out of ten.”

“Haha, funny. Want me to pull your hair next time, dear Wooyoung?” Woo teased back, handing him a moderately clean piece of cloth so he could clean himself off.

“I’ll take anything you have to offer,” he replied, throwing another wink at him.

“Ah, then look forward to it.” Woo smiled, tossing the last of the ropes onto the floor. “I have plenty of ideas I wish to share. Perhaps I’ll get a ten gold pieces of out ten.”

Wooyoung couldn’t tell if that terrified him or turned him, but it certainly made him laugh. Who knew he’d, quite literally, go fuck himself one day. All of his past escapades would be so proud. 


	3. liquid gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yunho’s jaw dropped. “Where in the seven seas did you find that?”
> 
> “We’re pirates, remember?” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter how I got it as long as I know how to use it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yunho + spanking, petnames, & fingering
> 
> I promise I'll reply to the comments on the last chapter when I wake up! it's currently 8am and I am Tired

The realization that their other halves were, quite literally, their other halves came weeks later. 

Yunho had originally stood in a middle ground of feelings towards the creature sharing his face. Neither bothered nor intrigued, he’d simply gone about his duties with only a faint interest in getting to know the twin he’d now acquired. He couldn’t tell you the exact moment the man went from  _ creature _ to a being worthy of a name but Yunho suddenly found himself enamored with everything his other half brought forth. Yu, as he so proclaimed himself, appeared to have consumed all of Yunho’s puppy-like innocence from his childhood and manifested with it. Yunho could do nothing without the dark version of himself—as if that term truly fit—trailing at his heels like an obedient dog. If anything, Yunho was the dark one these days, his life as a criminal earning wanted posters all along the coastline. 

They only connected the dots upon Yunho comparing the personality of his own clone to the personality of Yeosang’s.

Yeo had claimed all of Yeosang’s unspoken deviousness for himself, causing trouble and just being a general pain upon the Horizon. For Wooyoung, Woo balanced out his overly loud personality by becoming the blunt voice of reason. So, naturally, Yunho figured Yu would gain the innocence he’d abandoned years ago, but  _ damn _ was he wrong.

Yunho became the one to discover it was so much more than that. Their other halves manifested not only from their personality but their actions and interests as well. Yu had attached to Yunho’s acting abilities, able to mold himself into whatever role he needed. Or, as Seonghwa put it, Yu had acquired Yunho’s fluidity in both personality and in action. Which truly wasn’t a big deal in their everyday life. Sometimes Yu would snap between puppy dog eyes or a dangerous eyebrow wiggle and then things would go back to normal. 

The danger of it came after Wooyoung’s quiet admission to sleeping with Woo.

Thinking Yunho hadn’t considered it, even just a little, would be a bit ridiculous. But, it’d just been one of those things left to stew in the back of the mind. Perhaps he just didn’t want to be the first one to experiment; he’d accept that excuse too. Whatever the reason, Wooyoung forced him to view Yu’s cute smile and perfect teeth at a new angle. Yu caught onto that new interest with poorly disguised excitement.

The danger of  _ Yu _ manifested upon Yunho’s first quiet admission of curiosity.

Down in the cargo hold, sorting through their supplies, he experienced the switch up for the first time.

“You haven’t been able to ignore what Wooyoung said, have you.”

Yu’s voice caught his attention, the pirate pausing in his rifling. Yunho blinked at him, sweat cloying in protest along his shoulders. It wasn’t a question.

“What do you mean?” His gaze traveled up Yu’s body, his other half perched precariously on a shipping crate along the opposite wall. He’d purposefully undone a button near the top of the workshirt he had been given, legs dangling from the edge of the box. One elbow sat propped atop a stack of fabric next to him, offering support as his own eyes drank in Yunho’s form with a similar hunger.

“You know what I mean,” Yu replied. “You can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to fuck yourself.”

Yunho sensed the trap all around him. Yet some part of him felt almost … relieved to finally become entangled within it. He straightened to full height, dropping the sack of flour he was holding. Yunho ran the back of his gloved hand along his forehead, swiping away the sweat, before he looked back to Yu. 

Yu decided he wasn’t done speaking. “I’ve heard you whisper his name at night, and I know all of your fantasies. I can give you what you need while you wait.”

Yunho frowned, a little displeased at Yu’s choice of words. “Well first off, I wouldn’t start off a proposal for sex with  _ hey I hear you talk about another guy. _ ”

The other man raised his shoulders into a shrug. “Not saying it to be malicious.” His head tipped to the side and he gestured at Yunho. “Just that I can help …  _ tide you over, _ if you want.”

“Tide me over?” He replied, crossing his arms. Yunho fixed him with a calculating gaze though this tone carried an underlying interest.

Yu zeroed in on it like an osprey ready to descend. “Tide you over,” he repeated, voice low. His tongue ran over his lips in deliberate slowness. “Wouldn’t be any different than what you’ve already done.”

“Except you share my face.”

His other half laughed. “Think of it like masturbation then.” Yu’s eyes grew dark, lips twitching into something akin to a smirk amid the flickering lantern’s light. “Come here.”

Yunho knew he could walk away if he truly wished to do so. Yu’s tone may have been dark, and he may have been mischievous, but he still shared the need for his partner’s comfort. Were Yunho to simply go back to work and pretend their exchange had never happened, Yu would’ve respected that. He had many choices laid out before him in that moment and yet they both knew the one he would choose.

Taking a deep breath, Yunho stepped around the box. He advanced towards Yu, catching a flash of teeth as he drew near. His heartbeat grew quicker in his chest but not from fear, silence roaring in his ears to match the excitement sparking through him with each pace closer. Until, finally, he stood before Yu, their eyes level even with his other half sitting down. 

“Good boy,” Yu drawled, leaning back against aged wood. Yunho came to a halt, visibly swallowing. “Oh? Did you like that?  _ Good boy, _ ” he repeated, an involuntary shiver running down Yunho’s spine. Then he laughed, reaching out to tangle his fingers within Yunho’s shirt. He pulled him close and lent forward so their lips were brushing. “We both know you’re not a good boy, Yunho.”

His reply died out as Yu kissed him with a bruising force, teeth and tongue clashing. Yu snaked an arm around his waist and pulled him between his legs, hooking them together against Yunho’s ass with full intent on keeping him there. Yunho, not to be outdone, moved to grip both of Yu’s hips with his hands. He squeezed them with a heavy force, the action earning him a rough nip at his bottom lip.

Yu pulled away when he remembered his human counterpart still required air, allowing Yunho to catch his breath. A tiny glisten of spit ran down his chin and Yunho had never imagined seeing himself in such a state would turn him on so much. His counterpart leaned forward, slotting beneath Yunho’s chin so he could bury his nose into his neck. A rush of air passed over his hot skin as Yu breathed in the scent of him, tongue darting out to lap at the salt lingering upon his throat. 

“You smell so real,” Yu growled softly, “ _ So alive. _ ” Yunho gasped loudly as teeth closed around his Adam’s apple, and he couldn’t tell if the sudden switch in personality turned him on or terrified him. Maybe a bit of both, and Yunho found himself wanting to know more. Then he sucked at Yunho’s neck, pulling a moan from deep within his chest, the sudden action forcing his head back in a sharp snap. 

Only when Yunho pushed weakly at his stomach did he stop. Yu reluctantly let go, a hand moving up to gently prod at the indents he’d left behind. Yunho met his eyes again, feeling an urge to wipe the satisfaction off Yu’s features.

His counterpart proceeded to rake his fingertips down Yunho’s chest. They stopped at the hem of his loose fitting shirt and an inquisitive brow rose towards him. “Be a good boy and undress for me? I have something special to share.”

Again Yunho was met with a choice, but the time between affirmation sat low. 

Yu untangled his legs and smirked, folding his hands in his lap. Yunho didn’t particularly enjoy being talked down to but something about it coming from himself made him … oddly alright with it. He let go of Yu and took two steps back, flicking his gloves off with one fluid motion. Yu most likely wanted a show but Yunho was feeling a little too impatient for that. Pulling his shirt over his head, he tossed it onto the floor next to him, honestly grateful to be rid of it given the humidity clinging to his skin. Next came his belt, the buckle struggled with before it too made its way to the floor. Yu whistled in appreciation as Yunho dropped his drawers to the floor, revealing thick thighs and his semi-hard length to the room.

“Don’t know why you’re whistling when you have the same thing,” Yunho grumbled, toeing them into the rest of the pile.

“That’s the beauty of it,” Yu replied. “I know how big we are, and I know you’re going to love having it inside you.”

“And who made that choice?” He fired back defiantly.

Yu laughed shortly, reaching into the fabric stacked next to him; he held out what he’d retrieved. “Me, considering I went through the trouble of getting this.” Yunho went to protest but whatever words he’d been about to spit back died in his throat. Displayed proudly in Yu’s hand, still corked and pristine, was a glass bottle full of a gold liquid set ablaze by the light of the lanterns. 

Olive oil, a commodity worth a month’s pay.

Yunho’s jaw dropped. “Where in the seven seas did you find that?”

“We’re pirates, remember?” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter how I got it as long as I know how to use it.” Their eyes met, and Yu finally slid from the shipping crate so he could stand before him. He stepped forward, running his fingers down to the middle of Yunho’s chest. “I want you to bend over that crate. Can you be a good boy and do that for me?”

There were many things Yunho wished to say in that moment but he obeyed nonetheless, pushing past Yu so he could occupy the space he’d been previously. The wood where he’d been seated retained his body heat and though Yunho wasn’t all that keen about getting fucked in the cargo hold of all places, he had a feeling his mind wouldn’t care too much about his location in a moment or two anyway.

Yu slotted against him moments later, his clothes most likely ending up in the pile he’d previously created. The bottle of olive oil was set next to his elbow with a soft warning not to knock it over. Warm hands wasted no time in cupping his cheeks, squeezing at them as Yu hummed in appreciation. 

“We really do have the best ass.” Yu continued massaging the globes of his ass. He lent over him and pressed several messy kisses to Yunho’s broad shoulders, kissing as far down his spine as he could. Yunho, who had not been expecting soft, squirmed under the touches. “Cute,” he murmured, straightening back up. His counterpart let go completely and snatched up the glass bottle.

Yunho glanced over his shoulder as the sound of the cork being freed echoed around them. He couldn’t make out Yu’s face well with the lantern behind him but he just knew it was one of devious concentration. In an almost comical fashion, he raised the bottle and allowed the precious liquid to stream onto his lower back. It pooled there, Yu extending a hand to smear it along his honey skin. Drops of oil were unleashed into the cleft of his ass and Yunho shivered in response, turning back around so he could drop his forehead against the crate. Yu’s fingers followed lower, smoothing the oil over his entrance with a slight flick of his wrist; his hole twitched in interest.

The bottle made its way back to Yunho’s side but that was the least of his concerns in that moment. Yu began to trace his fingers up and down Yunho’s crack languidly, pressing a little harder whenever he ghosted over his hole, but never enough to actually push inside. Nearly two minutes of this passed before Yunho finally grew fed up with it.

“What are you waiting for?” He gasped, voice exasperated.

“Hmm …” Yu hummed, “Maybe a please.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then you get to wait. I’m a very patient man, unlike someone.” True to his word, Yu did not break. His fingers continued tracing along his entrance but he never gave Yunho what he wanted. Even when Yunho pushed back at a perfectly timed moment, Yu just pulled his hand away and planted a stinging slap to one of his cheeks. It was so unexpected that he jolted forward, a moan spilling involuntarily from his lips, but  _ holy fuck _ did it turn him on.

“My, my, you like this kind of thing too?” Yu delivered another slap to his other cheek, Yunho’s fingers curling against the worn wood of the crate. 

With a second slap, Yunho felt some primal part of him snap. He whined quietly. “P-please,” he gasped.

Yu paused, keeping his hand settled on the cheek he’d just hit. “What was that?”

“Please,” Yunho said louder, “Hurry.” 

Yet, Yu did not allow this to slide on its own either. “What do you need, hm? Be a good boy and tell me; I know you can.”

The last of Yunho’s resolve crumbled, and he dropped his shoulders with a pitiful exhale. “Fuck me.  _ Please. _ I-I need it.” It sounded rather emotionless, if you removed the breathiness of his voice, but Yu seemed to accept it—he wanted the admission over the delivery anyway.

After adding a copious amount of oil to his fingers, he finally worked one into Yunho’s needy body. He fingered him open with a gentleness that didn’t match the harsh spanking he’d delivered only minutes before, other hand rubbing reassuring circles into the impacted locations. It didn’t take long for him to add a second finger, readjusting his angle so he could seek out Yunho’s prostate. Yu pressed against it mercilessly, leaving Yunho to squirm and fight to hold himself upright no matter how much he wished to drop to his knees.

Yunho grew so lost in sensation he barely noticed Yu slip a third finger within him, his counterpart whispering a string of praises as he did so. 

Then he pulled his fingers free all at once, the wind figuratively leaving Yunho’s sails. He sagged against the crate with labored gasps, cock so hard it hurt. Yu leaned over him, his own length knocking between Yunho’s thighs as he snatched up the bottle of olive oil yet again. After, presumably, gathering some into his hand, the bottle returned to its starting position. Yu pulled back, a wet sound making him peek behind him; Yu was smoothing the oil over his shaft. Their eyes met, the latter flashing a smile. 

“I’m gonna make you scream, big boy.” Yunho parted his lips to protest but Yu didn’t give him a chance. Really, he only had himself to blame for having the trait in the first place.

Yu slipped into him with surprising ease, the size not catching up with his brain at first. The olive oil made the glide much smoother than it probably should’ve, allowing Yu to slide home in one complete thrust. Yunho cried out against the crate, arms extending to curl over the opposite edge for some sort of support. The burn from the stretch caught up moments later but it wasn’t as unpleasant as he had been expecting it to be. It actually felt  _ good _ to be spread so wide despite all of his instincts shouting how incorrect that was.

“Full?” Yu groaned, gripping his hips with slick hands. 

“J-just fuck me,” Yunho responded, wiggling his hips in an attempt to spring him to action.

Though he couldn’t see it, he was certain Yu smirked at him. He half expected his counterpart to protest, maybe demand some more respect, but perhaps he had too had become a little desperate.

The oil helped the penetration portion but it did little else to help. If anything, it made finding a solid pace incredibly difficult. The extra slide made slipping back within Yunho’s twitching hole easier, sure, but it also made it hard to control just how hard or fast Yu wanted to go. But, that suited them in some twisted little way—perhaps because they too were far from perfection.

Once Yu found it, however, it was over. He pressed Yunho against the crate and fucked into him without mercy, hard and fast until Yunho could do nothing but screech his name with every thrust. Yu had no inhibitor for stamina and  _ gods _ was that both a blessing and a curse.

Sensing Yunho’s knees about to give out, Yu hooked his hands and actually lifted him from the ground with an almost inhuman strength. Yunho didn’t have time to ponder it when he was quite literally getting his brains fucked out of him. The new angle gave him access to his prostate, the head of his cock sliding against the sensitive bundle of nerves with every sharp snap of his hips. 

Heat began to pool in his stomach, pleasure spreading hotly along his skin. Yunho tried weakly to reach for his neglected length but the angle they were at stopped him. 

“Close, big boy? You wanna come?”

Yunho responded with a broken sob, feeling vulnerable in Yu’s grasp. 

“Do it. Come for me.  _ Scream my name, _ ” Yu growled, an almost feral edge to his voice. He dropped him back to his feet, pausing only long enough to make sure he could support his own weight, before a hand ghosted along his hip. Yu gripped his weeping cock and began to stroke it in time with his thrusts, only serving to send Yunho closer to the edge.

His body lasted only seconds longer, already too high strung on the energy surrounding him. Yunho’s back dipped, drool spilling from his lips as he came into Yu’s warm palm. 

“Good boy,” his counterpart whispered, “Good boy. Such a good boy.” That nickname sent a pleasant tingle down his spine.

Yu slowed his thrusts, showing him a smidgen of mercy. He delivered a few light smacks to each of Yunho’s asscheeks, most likely marveling at the jiggle caused by it; they were luckily nowhere near the intensity of the beginning ones.

But, every man had his breaking point, even one stuck in limbo. 

His fingers dug into the sides of Yunho’s hips, Yu driving himself home in one powerful thrust. Yunho found delight in the moan he knew he was responsible for. Suddenly the idea of being stuffed full of cum had become so much more appealing and he shivered at the thought of being able to see himself drip. Maybe he’d have to return the favor to Yu ...

After several moments of labored breathing, Yu finally found the strength to slip free. Yunho hissed at the burn caused by the action. His back, stiff from the angle he’d been stuck in for so long, protested as rose into a stretch. 

“I would say that went well,” Yu mused, reaching out to gently massage at his sides.

Yunho didn’t answer at first, just allowing Yu to map the expanse of his back with deft hands. He sighed quietly. “... Next time  _ you’re _ the one getting bent over something.”

“We’ll have to see,” Yu replied, and he threw a narrow-eyed glance over his shoulder. “Seeing cum run down your legs is a little too appealing.”

“ _ That’s the beauty of it, _ ” Yunho mocked, “I know how appealing it is, and I’d like to see it for myself.”

Yu’s lips twitched but his challenge had been heard loud and clear. “We’ll see, big boy. We’ll see.”

Yunho turned, tilting Yu’s chin up with a single finger. “Best count on it then.”

It would be a shame to waste so much  _ liquid gold _ after all.


	4. i'm the captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can’t believe I’m gonna teach myself how to give a handjob,” Hongjoong grumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hongjoong + angry sex, rimming, & thigh biting / marking
> 
> sorry this took so long to get out! my partner was over for a few days so I was spending time with them!!
> 
> this has a nice dash of plot and also forced myself out of my comfort zone, so I apologize if it's a little lacking, but that's what writing is all about; trying new things! hope you enjoy!!

Being the captain of the Horizon brought its fair share of challenges. Hongjoong had been saddled with the power for a multitude of choices and responsibility for a ragtag group of misfits for so long that he barely recalled a life without it. He’d been young when his life as a pirate began, sailing the high seas at his mother’s side and earning his sea legs long before the counterpart. Hongjoong liked to see himself as someone who could be prepared for anything by the time he’d turned the ripe age of twenty-four. But when you were a pirate, could you ever _ really _ be prepared for something?

His search for the fabled Treasure, a powerful artifact said to grant one wish to those who found it, had consumed his life since the death of his mother. She too had searched for it, sharing tales of faraway lands and lavish living until the day she took her final breath eight years prior. Hongjoong vowed to find it for her, to finish her search so she may find peace, and in doing so followed the passage fate had carved just for him.

No matter how you framed it, their current situation was a direct result of Hongjoong’s search.

The crew of Horizon all had different reasons for seeking out the Treasure, sure. But without Hongjoong to extend a hand and offer them a chance to find it, they may have never followed him with the tide. They had their differences of course, all with a variety of tastes on such a small vessel, but they made it work. They became more than a crew; they became a family.

Hongjoong had a lot of pride when it came to his position but even he knew when to admit he’d fucked up. And he had—almost fatally. They’d discovered the location of the Treasure after many long, hard years, and he’d been a bit too eager to retrieve it. There were rituals they needed to follow, specific islands they required blessings from, but Hongjoong insisted on going without doing any of those things. In the moment, none of them argued. They were tired and ready for the wishes they’d been chasing for so long. Not a soul could be blamed for brimming with excitement upon his suggestion and the vote had passed in unanimous affirmation.

Hongjoong regretted it the moment they set foot on the island.

Something about it projected an unnatural force. He’d been prepared for that, kinda, considering the whole premise of the Treasure was to grant wishes. But, Hongjoong had not been prepared for the level of trepidation consuming his whole body the moment they stepped onto the sand. 

The Treasure was not anything like what they expected it to be. No tale they’d heard even came close to what they found. It had not been something grand, or even something they could squirrel away to the Horizon. Hongjoong, overwhelmed with a variety of emotions at the sight of it, touched without second thought.

He received the brunt of their current problem. Energy hummed through him with the force of tempestuous horizons, exploding outward with a force enough to send the rest of his crew sprawling in every direction. Hongjoong knew what most things felt like at that point in his life but he had no scale for the feeling of your soul literally being picked apart at the seams. Torn unevenly down the middle, Hongjoong felt himself lose an essential piece of his identity. He couldn’t describe it, even years in the future, but what he did know was it, without a doubt, was the worst thing he had ever felt—and he’d been stabbed in the kidney once. 

The result of his blunder had earned them living, breathing replicas. They were the same in appearance but not in spirit, containing half a soul torn from a random period in their lifespans. From their faces to their voices, every physical detail was the same.

Hongjoong lost track of how many days they’d spent on that island, disoriented and dazed. He barely remembered setting sail again. He just knew he had been on the island one moment and then at sea the next. It’d come out a day or so later that their counterparts, unaffected by the blast that created them, had realized the source of their problems and set sail in the hopes of returning their clarity. The theory worked, but Hongjoong still had moments where his mind couldn’t tell real from fake. A side effect Seonghwa assumed came from being the only one to directly touch the Treasure.

No one had told him. Hongjoong just  _ knew. _ He knew they needed to complete the rituals in the correct order to be allowed time with the precious Treasure. Which meant time at sea, locating each other, including the three they had never finished discovering. Until they could finish them all, they were stuck sharing space with their, for lack of a better word, clones.

Hongjoong assured everyone it would be fine. They didn’t require food or water or even sleep. They just … existed. Extra hands on deck wasn’t all that bad either actually. Still, the Horizon was only so big and privacy became a commodity outside of your own cabin. 

He spent the first two weeks or so ignoring his counterpart. The clone had introduced himself as Joong, just a shortened version of his own name, but he genuinely had no interest in getting to know him in the beginning. Hongjoong had enough distractions as a pirate captain; he couldn’t afford another. At least, that was the excuse he gave, but Seonghwa softly scolded him for it upon the start of the third week.  _ We were responsible for creating them, the least you can do is tolerate him. _

In reality, Hongjoong was the most unsettled over having another version of himself running around. It wouldn’t have been so bad if his counterpart had spawned like Yeosang or Wooyoung’s, full of deviousness and the same penchant for trouble. He knew he would’ve been much more open to it if so. Two Hongjoong’s with the same chaotic energy would surely get more done. The problem arose, however, when it became clear Joong wasn’t anything like him. Hongjoong was dangerous and hotheaded and had a thirst for thrill. Joong acted like a law-abiding church boy from the mainland. Something about  _ morals _ spilling from the lips of someone who shared his face felt  _ wrong. _ Since when had he followed rules? Never!

Sitting down and finally having a conversation with him helped a little. The image Hongjoong had conjured wasn’t as bad as the real thing, though it did cause tension in the beginning. Joong was … openly sincere and extremely vocal in his values. Which to a normal person (read: not a criminal) were prized traits. For Hongjoong, it felt more like a liability.

Their first trip on land nearly got them caught. Joong was not cut out for thievery and caused a bit of an uproar, forcing them to cast off without essential supplies upon noticing Wooyoung pocketing something. Hongjoong had been livid but his other half had been extremely apologetic despite knowing he was the root of the problem. He couldn’t leave him on the ship, however, as they soon discovered. So Hongjoong had to establish rules with him. No panicking when they swiped supplies and no spouting morality on the sand, preferably at all. Joong, terrified of Hongjoong’s anger, complied.

A little over a month into their voyage, Hongjoong noticed a change.

Joong became an increasing annoyance. He would talk louder or push Hongjoong’s buttons just because he could. At first, it was easy to ignore him. Just throwing himself into some duty or pondering over navigation with Yeosang earned him reprieve. But it got bad quick, with Joong making comments and demands over their living conditions almost every moment they were alone. 

The tipping point occurred within the Horizon’s Captains Quarters.

Going over their maps and information over the ritual sites, Hongjoong had spent an absurd amount of time sitting there and though that contributed to his annoyance, he wasn’t sure why such an offhand comment set him off. Perhaps it had been weeks of building upset and lack of outlet. Whatever it was, Hongjoong still didn’t regret what happened.

Hongjoong learned much, much later that ringleader extraordinaire had organized everything, but the details weren’t important in the moment.

Joong, spread out on the shitty church pew they’d knicked months prior, huffed loudly.

Hongjoong wasn’t sure why he felt inclined to humor him, leaning back in his chair and fixing his counterpart with a displeased expression. “What  _ now? _ Pillows too worn for you?”

“Pillows are  _ awfu _ l and you know it,” the man replied, looking at him with a pout. His face sat surprisingly clean, Joong refusing to allow even a trace of dirt upon his features. Where Hongjoong often allowed his hair to grow to at least shoulder length before trimming it, Joong kept his short. They shared the same face but they were far from the same person. 

“Then for what reason is our  _ delicate little damsel _ upset over?” Hongjoong’s lips twitched, flashing his teeth.

“I am not delicate!” Joong protested. 

“Says the one that refuses to touch a dirty dish,” Hongjoong grumbled in response. “You came from a pirate and yet you’re afraid of filth.”

“I refuse to clean dishes that aren’t mine!” Joong whined. “Besides, you don’t touch them either!”

“Because I’m the captain and don’t have to.” Hongjoong narrowed his eyes at him but the silent threat went unheeded.

Joong crossed his arms. “That’s an awful excuse. If you don’t have to do them, then I shouldn’t either. I’m technically a captain too!”

“You are not a captain,” Hongjoong answered, voice dangerously low.

His counterpart met him with a vaguely calculating look, as if he finally found a treasure of his own. A shadow passed over Joong’s face and it was here that Hongjoong should’ve noticed the first sign. He didn’t though, simmering quietly over the out of line comments.

“Hmph. I could be. It’s not like it’s hard when all you do is  _ sit around, _ ” Joong grumbled under his breath.

Hongjoong rose, crossing the room in three steps until he was standing over him. His aura only grew more intense. “You have not the faintest clue what it took to get here.”

Joong stared up at him in clear challenge. “Well it couldn’t have been hard work if you won’t even perform duties like the rest of us.”

His hand shot out, tangling in Joong’s shirt and yanking him to his feet. They stood eye level, their noses mere centimeters apart; Joong’s eyes were wide with shock. “Are you questioning my position?” Hongjoong’s voice sat low and level.

Joong visibly swallowed but it appeared his streak of defiance remained. “Yeah, I am. You have power, and for what?”

Hongjoong’s other hand rose, tangling into his counterpart’s soft hair and  _ snapping _ his head back. “You want me to show you my power, Joong? Is that what you want?” He growled.

The man trembled, keeping his arms limp at his side. His expression suggested regret at provoking but something told Hongjoong this was  _ exactly _ what he wanted. He made no attempt to pull away or apologize, and a quick scan of his body revealed the faintest bulge in his drawers. How interesting.

“P-please,” Joong whimpered.

“ _ Please, _ ” Hongjoong scoffed, anger coiling tightly in his muscles. “How pathetic. Can’t even back up your bullshit, can you?” He lent forward until his lips were brushing the other man’s jugular. “You’re hard, and for what? Does our delicate little flower like it when people are mean to him?” He heard Joong’s breath catch above him. His heartbeat quickened and though Hongjoong could’ve given him exactly what he wanted in that moment, he didn’t—that would be far too easy. Joong squirmed in his grip, hands raising to touch, and Hongjoong let go of him completely. He stepped back, leaving his counterpart spluttering and red in the face. His lips parted but one look from Hongjoong made whatever he’d been about to say die in his throat. 

“Clothes off.” It wasn’t a question.

Joong visibly shrank, shoulders drooping as the realization of his screw up set in. Tail effectively between his legs, Joong obeyed, the slightest tremor passing through his bottom lip. He shrugged his jacket off and carefully set it on the church pew, never taking his eyes off Hongjoong. His shirt came next, the scratchy fabric tugged off and tossed into the same pile. Joong shivered as rush of cool air passed over his now exposed chest, his counterpart involuntarily crossing his arms to hide his breast area. 

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” Hongjoong said, brow raising. “Don’t cover yourself again.”

The other man squirmed under Hongjoong’s words and reluctantly lowered his arms, tugging at the strings holding his bottoms up with shaky hands. His eyes followed as they dropped to the ground, leaving Joong exposed in all his naked glory.

Hongjoong’s lips twitched into a smirk. There was something so intimate about staring at himself nude. Joong shared the same physical body and yet he’d still made it his  _ own. _ His lower half had been recently shaved, the second sign Hongjoong missed in that moment, earning an appreciative whistle. He shared none of the scars afflicting Hongjoong’s own body, leaving him unmarred and smooth, and he felt a strong urge to reach out and touch. Hongjoong resisted though; this was a punishment after all.

After moments of silent appreciation, Hongjoong broke eye contact. He snatched his chair by the backing and yanked it in front of the church pew, startling Joong. Hongjoong removed his own overcoat and threw it onto his desk, following the action by working his drawers past his boots. He kept his shirt on for the moment, not at all interested in being chilled to the bone, and plopped into his chair. Joong kept his eyes trained on the floor but Hongjoong was no fool. He knew his counterpart had been following every action from his peripherals.

Finally, Hongjoong turned his attention onto Joong.

He snapped his fingers and pointed between his open legs. “On your knees.”

Joong whined softly. “B-but splinters …”

“You think this is supposed to be  _ fun _ for you? This is a punishment, remember?” Hongjoong tapped the tip of his boot against the floor. His counterpart mumbled something under his breath and moved towards him. Normally Hongjoong would let it go, but his anger still burned hotly in his veins. “Care to repeat that?”

Joong said nothing, instead dropping to the wood between his legs. His fingertips pressed against Hongjoong’s thighs so he could steady himself. Hongjoong pushed them away, forcing Joong to hold the entirety of his weight with his knees. 

Taking a moment to admire the way Joong’s lip trembled, he finally extended a hand and once again curled his fingers into the other man’s hair. Hongjoong tipped his head back just enough to force him to look him in the eye. “You’re going to get me hard while you finger yourself. I would do it myself but, well, I  _ never _ do the hard work, remember?” He used his other hand to gently cup Joong’s chin, stroking a thumb over his shaky lip. “You can handle that, hm?” The captain let go of him, allowing him to shift as he saw fit.

“I-I don’t,” Joong whispered, voice shaky, “I don’t … know what to do.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Hongjoong sighed, “Forgot you’re a  _ delicate flower. _ ” Joong didn’t protest this time, instead looking up at him with the most innocent eyes Hongjoong had ever seen. He couldn’t put a finger on what kind of emotion they sparked within. “Give me your right hand.” Joong obeyed a bit too eagerly. Hongjoong grasped it, guiding it down to his neglected length. His adrenaline from earlier had translated into semi-hardness but not near enough to get the job done. “Well, grab it,” he prompted. 

Joong did so; his fingers were trembling with the same force as his lips. Hongjoong placed his hand over Joong’s, squeezing his fingers a little tighter and guiding his hand into a quick stroke of his cock.

“Can’t believe I’m gonna teach myself how to give a handjob,” Hongjoong grumbled. “Move your hand like that.” He let go, allowing Joong to get a feel for it himself. 

His counterpart started slow, eyes shifting from Hongjoong’s face to the task at hand. Rather,  _ in _ hand. He began to work Hongjoong with slow pumps, palm soft in contrast to his own rough ones. Joong, true to his other half, was a fast learner. He picked up on just how to stroke Hongjoong, including when to speed up or slow down, until Minihong stood hard and proud between them. Only then did Hongjoong finally give him a break, ordering him to let go; Joong did so.

“I want to try something,” Hongjoong hummed. His anger had faded but now he was ready for something a little more exciting—he still needed to teach Joong a bit of a lesson too. Reaching out, the captain took hold of Joong’s hair for the third time that evening and pulled him forward, causing the other man to slap his palms against the ground for support. His cheek brushed against Hongjoong’s cock and he laughed. He may have enjoyed how much power he had over his counterpart a little  _ too _ much.

Joong whined something but Hongjoong ignored it.

“Open your mouth. Listen to me and I’ll call what you said even.” He smiled as Joong looked up at him, lip pushed into a pout. “I’ll even give you a reward.” That motivated him, Joong’s jaw falling open almost instantly. Hongjoong internally cringed. He hoped if he was ever so obedient that someone would instantly know something was wrong with him.

His other hand drifted lower to grasp his length, maneuvering Joong so he could press it against his lip. “Be a good boy and let me fuck your mouth.” Hongjoong guided himself inside, wet heat swallowing him up. Joong, in all his innocent glory, had enough sense to relax his throat at least. Being a  _ not quite ghost  _ gave him the advantage of no gag reflex but this did little else to save him. Hongjoong groaned, not giving him a moment to really grasp the situation before he began to roll his hips.

Keeping his grip in Joong’s hair, he used it to keep his counterpart in place. He was not gentle, but Joong didn’t protest, just squeezing his eyes shut as Hongjoong used his mouth to his full advantage. Each thrust forced a choked moan from deep within, vibrating up his shaft. Then Joong cracked his eyes open, the pretty brown orbs brimming with tears. Hongjoong had felt many things in his life but losing all of his breath at once was a new one. Joong looked  _ gorgeous _ all teary-eyed and cheeks flushed pink.

That sight alone did him in, Hongjoong biting his lip so hard he tasted blood. He pushed himself as far into Joong’s mouth as he could, guttural groan filling the small space. Joong willingly drank all of what he offered, suckling lightly around him.

Moments of panting later, Hongjoong finally pulled Joong off of him. A thin trail of saliva and cum followed his tongue and Hongjoong enjoyed that sight too. Sensing this, Joong’s cute little pink tongue swiped the excess fluids away and he swallowed them—he kept eye contact the whole time.

“Don’t insult my authority again,” he said, prompting Joong onto his knees. “If you want me to sleep with you, you don’t need to be an asshole to make it happen.”

“B-but, he sai—” Joong protested quietly.

“I don’t care what  _ your _ leader says. I’m in charge on this boat.” Hongjoong captured his counterpart’s messy lips with his own, the taste of salt meeting his eager tongue. He nipped at his lips until Joong parted them, allowing Hongjoong to slip inside and seek out the remnants of his own cum within his cheeks. That alone was hot as fuck.

Hongjoong didn’t prolong it for too long; he had a reward to offer.

He pulled away, leaving Joong shaky and desperate. His eyes trailed down, spotting the head of his cock glistening with pre-cum. “Can you listen to me just a bit longer?”

Joong nodded eagerly, staring at him with such open need that Hongjoong almost felt bad. Keyword:  _ almost. _

“Good. Up then, stretch your legs a bit while I do some adjusting.” Hongjoong pressed a finger against his lips. “No questioning, just do it.”

His counterpart pouted but still listening, pushing himself to his feet. He moved out of the way so Hongjoong could rise into a stretch, shaking the stiffness from his limbs. Then he made his way to the church pew, fiddling with the pillows as he rearranged them into the desired position. Enough to keep Joong comfortable and offer him access to everything he wanted.

He turned, jerking his thumb back to his handiwork. “Sit.” Joong awkwardly shuffled over and did so, sitting on the very edge of the pew. 

Hongjoong reached out, gently guiding him into the full position he wanted him. His counterpart, bent at the waist, sat with his ass dangling off the edge and his only form of support to keep from sliding off being his hands gripping the backing of the pew. He looked cute and vulnerable and Hongjoong knew he’d have to revisit it. Once Joong was in the proper position, it was his turn to be on his knees. Hongjoong wasn’t being punished, however, and had settled one of the nicer pillows where his kneecaps would sit. He sank into it while Joong followed his movements, heels pressing hard against the pew’s edge to keep himself supported.

“Perfect,” Hongjoong hummed, reaching out to knock his counterpart’s feet free. This forced him to slide down even further, Hongjoong hooking his knees over his shoulders. It left him with absolutely no leverage and no escape route, presenting him in full glory to the man who put him there. “I’m gonna  _ love _ ruining you.”

He finally leaned forwards, fingers gently parting Joong’s cheeks. The smell of his shitty lavender soap clung to his skin and Hongjoong grimaced, grateful his face was below the other man’s sight. He pushed his cheeks further apart, watching the way Joong’s hole twitched at the sudden rush of air against it. Joong mewled above him, Hongjoong listening to the way his nails scraped against the pew’s backing, before he finally flattened his tongue against his cute pucker.

The reaction was immediate, thighs clamping around Hongjoong’s head. He began to tongue Joong’s hole with purposeful slowness, switching between moving in careful strokes and flicking the tip against it. Hongjoong teased at the tight ring of muscle, Joong crying out as he realized Hongjoong meant to push inside. Then he pulled away, instead biting into one of the thighs right next to him. Joong  _ screeched _ as he sucked at the patch of skin beneath his lips, a hand flying down to pull weakly at his hair. The captain ignored him, instead letting go so he could admire the light bruise he’d placed in the position of one of his own nasty scars.

Hongjoong turned his head to the other side, mirroring it with an aggressive fervor. Joong’s desperate cries filled the room as he did so, sucking mark after mark into his pretty skin. The man could do nothing more than squirm as Hongjoong turned him into a leaky mess. 

And only when Hongjoong was satisfied he’d left enough bruises and bitemarks did he return to his neglected hole, teasing the ring of muscle until he could finally work his tongue inside. Hongjoong took the opportunity to snake an arm up and around Joong’s thigh, gripping his messy length with a firm grip.

Joong actually  _ sobbed _ and something primal in him  _ roared _ at the sound of it.

Hongjoong growled, low and deep, and Joong’s body finally gave in. He came with a raw scream of Hongjoong’s name, both hands pulling his hair as his cum spilled out of him in a stream of messy wetness all over his chest. 

His only regret in that moment was being unable to see his face.

Hongjoong pulled his tongue free, pressing it into the corner of his mouth as he stared at Joong’s tear-stained face. Cheeks puffy and lips quaking, he looked  _ absolutely wrecked _ and Hongjoong delighted in knowing he had caused that.

“If you’re this ruined from my tongue, I can’t wait to see what you look like when I actually fuck you,” he groaned, guiding Joong to his side so he could stand.

The latter squeaked, eyes wide. “F … f-fuck me?” He stuttered.

“Surely that’s what you wanted,” Hongjoong responded, smirking, “It’s a good thing Yu stole some olive oil. You’ll have to thank him for it later.”

Joong panicked more over the theft than the looming promise, but perhaps this was because he knew his fate had been sealed the moment he acted out that evening. Whatever the reason, Hongjoong just sent a silent thank you that these voyages wouldn’t be _ too _ boring now.


	5. moonlit fantasies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you take me for? _A thief?”_
> 
> Brow raising, San raised his free hand, palm up. “You are aware of the human you spawned from, right?”
> 
> Sannie laughed once more, light and airy. “That’s true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> san + breathplay / choking & light degradation 
> 
> sorry this took so long to get out :(( I haven't been feeling the best towards writing lately ;;  
> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter but I wanted to get it out for everyone! hope you enjoy!

Many would call San’s ability the element of surprise, but he had grown up knowing the truth. His skill did not lie in being able to take people off guard, though this was part of it. He could disarm your knife and have a knee buried into the small of your back before you even knew what happened. It wasn’t the element of surprise so much as people underestimating him. San had grown up a scrawny underfed street rat, his thin frame and sharp features making uppity nobles disregard him at a glance.

They always regretted it when their prized pocket watch or pouch of gold pieces turned up missing.

Fingers nimble and body lithe, he could pilfer with the best of them. Had done so, actually. It had been how he met Hongjoong years prior, caught with his hand rummaging in a pocket he had no business stealing from. She had turned out to be one of the most fearless pirate captains sailing the seas, and though San expected to lose his hand for being caught, he didn’t. The woman had seen something in him that warranted potential. Rather than being killed, he was offered a chance to sail with them—which meant not dying. It was dangerous work, but San only needed to hear of food and a decent place to sleep to agree.

He had been Hongjoong’s crewmate first, then his friend, then his Quartermaster. He had been with the captain from his thirteenth birthday, had watched him grow up, gather the rest of his crew, and become a pillar of hope for so many. San had been there the day his mother died, the day they lost their original ship, and the day their pride shattered into pieces.

San took the assumptions about his appearance and made them his own. He could seduce you and rob you blind, or he could kill you with a flick of his wrist. His skill for gathering information and his cunning personality had earned him a spot at Hongjoong’s side. Together they terrorized the seas, a formidable duo that even the rest of the Horizon’s crew had struggled to understand in their first weeks onboard.

He had never been on the receiving end of those advances until faced with Sannie, the man who looked like himself and yet had a mind all his own.

If San was dangerous, Sannie was  _ treacherous. _ His personality had been taken and amplified to max, bouncing off the mischief of Yeo and encouraged by the duality of Yu. 

He pounced when San least expected it, catching him off guard when duties were meant to be performed. Sannie’s favorite place to ambush him happened below deck, within the hallway connecting the doors to San and Seonghwa’s cabins. His counterpart would crowd him against the wall, hands already pulling at his clothes. Sannie drank him in with desperation, determined to enjoy every inch of him as if they were destined to take their final breaths that very moment—did, actually, in San’s case, as their lips crashed together and his clone stole every bit of air from his lungs.

San hated it at first. Many viewed him as lazy or unproductive but as the Quartermaster of the Horizon, this was not the case. But Hongjoong, whether it was because he was occupied with his own alternate self or not, had not scolded him on his disappearances at the hands of Sannie. Then he started to like it, enjoying the momentary reprieve from the bustling duties aboard a pirate ship. More work went into tending to his crew than many gave him credit for and being able to give up control for a moment, to allow himself to get lost in sensations he only dared experience behind the shitty lock of his cabin door, felt incredible.

And being rendered useless when you were usually so in control was mouth-wateringly attractive.

Sannie caught onto that quickly. It would be a crime not to given who he had spawned from. Forcing (the word used loosely of course) San into various situations, teasing him until he managed to tip him over the breaking point … San wasn’t sure if it was humiliating or exciting. Maybe a bit of both. Something about degrading words spilling from his own lips, accentuated with a smirk and strong fingers cupping his chin, made him weak in the knees. Certainly not because he’d fantasized about it with someone else or anything.

Those factors were what landed him in his current predicament, cool night air caressing his hot skin and sending a multitude of shivers down his spine. He had been tasked with guard duty that evening, leaving him high above the Horizon’s main deck within the crow’s nest. San adored being up high, the night breeze carrying the scent of salt and a lull of peace that was surprisingly sparse despite being surrounded by nothing but water. With the moon in a sliver above, it cast just enough of a glow to deter use of a lantern. Sannie had joined him, because  _ four eyes are better than two, San! _ But he knew better; his suspicions turned out to be correct as well. (They always were.)

“We’re in the middle of the ocean! It’s not like someone will sneak up on us.” Sannie dramatically threw himself against the railing, an arm dangling off the edge.

“If we can see them, they can see us,” San deadpanned, scanning the ocean before them as they sailed onward.

“As if someone would attack the great Horizon knowing  _ Kim Hongjoong _ is still alive and kicking upon it,” his counterpart replied, cocking his head at him.

San affixed him with narrowed eyes. 

“And Choi San, the most dangerous duo upon the seven seas!” Sannie cheered, San wondered if Yeosang was shaking his head at them from the ship’s wheel far below.

Despite his previous words, San still offered his attention to his counterpart. Propping an elbow on the railing, he rested his chin against his hand and pursed his lips, staring at him. The few strands of white hair at Sannie’s front fluttered in the wind—it was the identifying factor between them. “You’re full of energy tonight.”

“How nice of you to notice,” he laughed, metaphorical tail swishing behind him. “I’ll have you know I acquired something delicious this evening.”

As the Quartermaster in charge of rations, San’s mind immediately went to food. “You weren’t digging around in the celebratory sweets were you?”

“What do you take me for?  _ A thief? _ ” Accentuated with a dramatic gasp of course.

Brow raising, San raised his free hand, palm up. “You  _ are _ aware of the human you spawned from, right?”

Sannie laughed once more, light and airy. “That’s true.”

“I think I would hate you if you were sweet and innocent like Joong. Me?  _ Being a good citizen? _ Awful.” He stuck his tongue out, a fake shudder running through his body. 

“Joong is fun to ruin though,” Sannie hummed. “Making him cry … you should’ve seen him try to take Yu’s cock the other night.”

“You guys have orgies and don’t invite us? How rude,” San teased. He was a bit surprised at that knowledge, despite knowing it … shouldn’t have been. Half of their souls or not, they were still clones, and participating in the same urges as their human anchors only seemed fitting.

Sannie pouted. “Don’t change the subject! Don’t you wanna hear about what I snatched for you?”

There were two types of dangers in life, San had discovered. The danger that ended with death and the danger that ended with something more …  _ interesting. _ So though his danger receptors perked up, raising the hair on the back of his neck, San knew it was the last. But danger was still danger and, with it, a trap had been laid for him.

Perhaps he chose to fall forward into it.

“What’d your dirty little paws acquire?” He questioned.

Sannie smirked and straightened himself out, the arm dangling over the railing coming up to press against it lightly. San realized his other arm had been hidden on his other side throughout the conversation, and Sannie finally swung it into full view. He had to squint to see it properly and San could barely make out the outline of a container—a bottle, to be precise. 

“Alcohol?”

Sannie balked at his unimpressed look. “Not alcohol!” He replied indignantly. “Me, presenting such a bland thing as  _ special? _ You really do lack faith in me.” The man sniffed dramatically. “Maybe I’ll just keep it for myself then.”

The bottle was thrust in his direction, displayed proudly between them but kept just out of San’s reach. Here, the moonlight above caught the glass, illuminating the liquid sloshing around within. His eyes widened.

“Yu was kind enough to pilfer this for all of us. Well,” he paused, setting the glass against the railing, “For him. I …  _ borrowed _ it.”

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or scold you,” San said, shaking his head. “Is that what I think it is?”

Sannie shifted forward then, raising a hand to slot a finger beneath San’s chin. He tilted his head back and met his gaze with one of burning challenge. “That depends. If you think it’s olive juice, you’re correct.”

“You mean … olive oil?”

“Oil, juice, whatever—you still had to squeeze them to get it.” Sannie shrugged his other shoulder. “The name doesn’t matter. What does matter, however, is  _ this. _ ” He knocked his shoe against San’s ankle, catching off guard enough to achieve the desired effect. The latter stumbled, thrown off balance, and Sannie slipped the arm holding the olive oil around San’s waist to pry him completely from the railing. He used the sudden momentum to sling him back against the mast, crowding up against him. Lastly, he slipped a leg between San’s own, knee bumping up against his clothed groin and serving to effectively trap him there.

It was too easy, really.

San should’ve been more on his game; he knew that now.

“You wanna have a little fun?” Sannie whispered, fingers playing along San’s wrist. “We’re the same person—I know you’ve always wanted to be fucked up here. I can make that dream come true.”

“I am on guard duty, Sannie.” His voice lacked conviction, however. This was  _ far more interesting _ than staring into open water for the night. Besides, he could use a bit of an outlet for awhile.

“I think this is betraying you a bit,” his counterpart mused, rolling his knee in a circular motion. The action pulled a gasp from San’s lips, his tongue darting out to wet them as his body finally caught up. “We both know you were staring into the distance bored out of your mind.”

San giggled despite his position. “You know me so well, Sannie,” he drawled.

“That’s my job. Now let me help you with your dreams.” The man pulled away but only long enough to carefully set the bottle of olive oil upon the ground. Then he was back to press against San’s body, gripping both of his wrists with one hand. The strength behind Sannie’s hands had a way of catching him off guard, regardless of how many times he had felt it. It reminded him of just how human he was beneath his counterpart’s grasp. They were otherworldly beings free of the laws government human anatomy and though a touch may be light, it could easily switch to something much stronger without missing a beat.

He raised San’s arms above his head, pressing them against the wood of the mast. His knee returned to its previous location, Sannie allowing it to move without giving the man below him a chance to realize what was happening. Sannie lowered his head and slotted it within the crook of San’s neck, purposefully inhaling against him. San allowed his head to loll to the opposite side in offering, Sannie murmuring thanks as his lips ghosted along the exposed skin of his neck. He swallowed, throat jumping at the proximity, and Sannie chuckled quietly against him.

Sealing his lips against the side of San’s throat, he allowed his other hand to trace the outline of his body. His fingertips teased at the edge of his uniform, tugging the fabric from the waistband of San’s mismatched drawers. San shivered as cool air clawed its way up his shirt. Sannie shifted his hand beneath, following his initial path backwards with deliberate slowness. The pirate wasn’t sure whether to focus on the lips attached to his neck or the hand growing dangerously close to his nipple.

Sannie made that choice for him. He dropped his knee from its administrations and pulled away from his neck, instead opting for pressing their foreheads together. Their eyes met through the darkness, San’s lips parted as gentle gasps slipped through. Sannie’s own glistened with spit, tip of his tongue poking through in a tantalizing way. 

“It’s a good thing everyone knows how much you crave being used, otherwise I’d have quite the story to tell,” Sannie teased, finally reaching San’s nipple. He pinched it, enjoying the way San’s head fell back against the wood. “One of the most terrifying pirates, reduced to nothing but a shaking mess as he’s fucked from behind. Who would be afraid of you then, hm?”

San groaned at the clear degradation. But Sannie didn’t stop there.

The hand around his wrists tightened to near bruising pressure, Sannie allowing his arm to drop from his chest. San watched him with open interest as he raised it, gently stroking the side of his face. 

“You’re no more terrifying than a tiny crab beneath my heel.” Sannie trailed his fingers down, curling them around his throat. His thumb pressed against the mark that had been left behind, his counterpart applying a light pressure to it. San realized his intentions moments later. He squeezed the sides of San’s throat, the effect kicking in immediately. The edges of his vision grew hazy, lids heavy, and his tongue lolled from his mouth. Sannie only held on for a solid ten seconds but it was enough to make him roll his hips in desperation, cock straining in his pants as he fought for some sort of friction.

“Heh, forgot how much you like feeling powerless.” His counterpart smiled softly, disconnecting their foreheads. Then he squeezed at San’s neck once again, extending the time to fifteen seconds. San’s eyes rolled back in his head, body arching upward into Sannie. “So desperate and needy for me …” 

Sannie let go, allowing San to sag back against the mast and gasp for air. His hand dropped back down to San’s hip, gripping it gently. Though San couldn’t see it, he knew his neck would be nicely bruised come morning. Choking wasn’t normally on their menu, though they had done it a few times in the past. Even when Sannie offered it, he did so sparingly. A ghost with common sense. How nice.

San loved it though. Absolutely  _ adored _ being rendered breathless and squirming in someone else’s grip. 

“Lean over the railing. Don’t have the patience to take off your clothes tonight,” Sannie grumbled, voice carrying a sharp insistence. 

“‘S cold, so it’s fine,” San replied quietly.

Sannie winked and let go, allowing San to lower his arms and allowing the blood to flow back into them. His counterpart shuffled to the side, gesturing to the edge of the crow’s nest. The action came off as cocky but in the moment he didn’t care—he’d just repay him for it later.

San stumbled to the other side, his knees threatening to give out at any moment. He had enough sense to untie the strings of his drawers and force them down, the night air curling around his hot length as if to punish him.

“Look at you,” Sannie sang sweetly, “Already undressing for me. You’re eager tonight.”

_ You’re the eager one, _ he wanted to snap, but he knew that would earn him a punishment rather than a reward. 

San leaned his weight onto the railing, spreading his legs despite not being prompted to do so. Sannie found delight in this as well, praising him quietly.

His counterpart slotted in behind him, palming one of his cheeks. He gave it a hard squeeze. The pirate threw a glance over his shoulder, Sannie’s eyes dark and focused upon his lower half. “You’re so pliant tonight, San. Such a good listener for me.”

“As much as I enjoy the praises, aka I’m a  _ whore _ for them, I would much prefer your cock in my ass,” he replied, giving a wiggle of his hips.

“Your wish is my command,” Sannie laughed. The sound of a cork popping free brought an involuntary groan from deep within San. Cool liquid splashed against his crack, the thin wetness sliding between his cheeks and dripping onto the wood beneath his feet. His back dipped, teeth clacking together as he hissed. Sannie’s fingers prodded his balls, allowing the oil to pool against them, before he swiped a swathe of it back up. San groaned at the wetness of it.

Then Sannie slipped a finger inside, the oil giving a welcome slide he hadn’t felt in months. He sighed dreamily at the feeling, not at all the reaction Sannie seemed to be wanting, and dropped his head against his forearms. It wouldn’t take much to get him loose and ready, given San’s usual activities, but Sannie still took his time with it. He fingered San open until he was squirming and his knees threatened to give out, whimpers and soft cries spilling from his lips with each twist of Sannie’s wrist. 

Sannie pulled his fingers free, San collapsing onto one knee with labored gasps. His cock jumped against his stomach, hard, weeping, and angry at being left unattended for so long. But it would remain in that state even longer, unfortunately. 

“Back up,” Sannie  _ growled, _ his tone much different than when they had begun.

San whined his protest, earning him fingers tangling into his hair. Sannie yanked his head back, meeting his eyes from above. “Do you want me to make you?”

That was exactly what he wanted actually.

“ _ Make me, _ ” he breathed.

The reaction was instantaneous, Sannie pulling at his scalp. San hissed in protest, the pain sparked along his skin. He moved with Sannie’s grasp, allowing himself to be hoisted up and shoved back over the railing. 

“Stay there,” Sannie warned, landing a hefty slap to his ass. He let go of his hair, the sound of fabric rustling sounding moments later. San chanced another look over his shoulder just in time to watch him pour more of the precious olive oil into his palm. Sannie caught his eyes, lips raising into a smirk. “Such a shame no one but me will hear you tonight.”

“Next time,” San replied, a little too needy to think of who was or wasn’t listening to them. It didn’t matter, really.

“We haven’t even finished this time and you’re already worried about the next? Guess I need to up my game.” Sannie set the bottle of oil back down and opted for gripping his hip instead, pressing against him. His cock pressed perfectly between San’s cheeks, almost like it was made to be there. (Maybe it had been.)

“Considering I’ve been practically  _ begging _ for a dick in my ass for the last twenty or so minutes and I  _ still _ haven’t gotten one, yes, I would say you’re lacking,” San challenged.

“Hm, bold words for someone about to be, quite literally, railed.” Sannie rolled his hips, allowing his cock to drag against San’s flushed skin. “You want this in you?”

“That’s what I’ve  _ been saying, _ ” he responded, exasperation leaking through.

Sannie dug his fingers into his hip. “That’s not the proper way to say please.”

“Will you be _ so kind _ as to fuck me  _ so hard _ I have to  _ limp _ everywhere in the morning,  _ good sir? _ ”

His counterpart laughed. “A little heavy on the sarcasm but it’ll do.” After a bit of repositioning, Sannie finally pressed the head of his length against San’s entrance. The latter moaned, resisting the temptation to sink down upon it himself. He would be rewarded if only he was good. 

And reward Sannie did, sinking deeper and deeper with each thrust. San’s body swallowed him willingly, spine arching and head snapping back with a silent scream. Only when he was flush against him did he allow his hands to clasp both of San’s hips, letting out a high-pitched moan of his own. 

“ _ You feel so good. _ ”

San didn’t reply _ —couldn’t,  _ really, too lost in sensations as they exploded through him. His nails sank into the weathered wood in search of literally anything to ground him in that moment.

Then Sannie began to fuck into him with powerful thrusts, snapping his hips in an effort to pull every single noise he could from San’s lips. The pirate tried to hold back in the beginning but it didn’t take long for him to give up, panting and whimpering with each wet slide into his aching body. Sannie draped over his body, enveloping him somehow despite being the same size, and sought out his poor cock. He wrapped his hand around it and allowed it to slide against his palm with each thrust, the sudden friction adding a new factor that had San launching into a dizzying haze within seconds.

He may have drooled over the edge, but could you blame him?

Sannie didn’t pause for even a second, keeping his pace hard and brutal. “Will you cum for me, pretty boy? Make a mess of yourself. I know you want to.”

San barely heard the words, too lost in a haze of pleasure. When he came, it was one hundred percent to sensation, not to Sannie’s voice. He seized up, back arching with his loudest cry of the night. Cum splattered against the railing he was leaning against, releasing from him as waves of pleasure fanned through every inch of his being.

Still Sannie did not stop, his thrusting only managing to grow quicker and more erratic. He was close, that much San could tell.

_ “Fill me,” _ San demanded.

Those two words achieved the desired effect, his counterpart releasing a weird mix of a hiss and a moan. His fingers curled with bruising force against San’s waist, his thrusting coming to a halt. San groaned at the feeling of Sannie’s cock twitching deep within him, delighting in the idea of cum filling his insides courtesy of himself. Sannie pulled out moments later, allowing San to take several seconds just to catch his breath. His hole clenched around nothing, the other man gently massaging his hips and asscheeks to soothe him a bit.

“You’re insatiable,” he managed at length, breaking from Sannie’s grip so he could tug his drawers back up. It wasn’t ideal, nor did he enjoy the idea of cum leaking into the fabric, but it wasn’t like he had anything to wipe it on at that moment. Certainly wasn’t the most filthy he’d ever been either. For now, he was content to bathe in the afterglow.

“I’ll fuck you again, if you want. Fill you to the point you’ll never be able to get it all out of you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” San replied, waving his hand. He sank to the floor of the crow’s nest, massaging the soreness from his legs. “Later, when I actually feel like standing again.”

Sannie smiled down at him, and San could nearly hear the amount of dirty thoughts rushing through his counterpart’s mind. Instead, he too pulled his own drawers back up and joined him upon the floor. “That’s a good sign for me. I’m certain you’ll limp come morning.”

San leaned back against the wood. “Heh, it’ll take more than one round to achieve that; you should know that by now.” He raised a finger, halting Sannie’s next words. “We can talk about that later. I’m curious about something else.”

“It’s not like we have much else to do,” he replied, crossing his arms. “Ask away.”

“You said Joong looked pretty being wrecked by Yu … I wanna hear about that, and anything else wild you lot get up to.”

Sannie’s head cocked to the side, brow raising; mischief danced clearly in his eyes. “Ah, little San, do I have quite the stories for you.”

“Then it’s a good thing we have a whole night ahead of us.” And plenty more time to indulge in each other too.


	6. hat trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are not a coward, and yet you hide in this room to avoid your feelings.” His counterpart tightened his grip as Jongho found his footing again, eye contact accumulating flame between them. “You can’t deny it Jongho; I am your other half. I know more about you than anyone else in the whole world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jongho + glove kink, praise, & some mutual masturbation

As a child, he had lived a near perfect life. Born into money and taught a valuable skill from the moment he could hold tools steady, Jongho's lot in life seemed secure and safe. Life was fleeting, however, and the hands of fate often reshuffled the decks of human lives they so delicately held. Growing up a hatter's son, he had learned the art of crafting hats at an impossibly young age. He had never been very good at it, just  _ average,  _ and he showed little interest aside from knowing it would be a business one day. Truthfully, Jongho found more joy in singing. He loved performing, and he wanted nothing more than to be a traveling singer when he grew older. Being able to travel the world and acquire stories and songs from some of the greatest poets often sent him into a tizzy of daydreams and fantasies. 

Making that wish as a child had allowed it to be just that—a wish, nothing more. 

He knew he was not responsible for what happened in the near future but  _ damn _ if he didn’t carry the constant guilt with him everywhere he went. Robbed blind and burned to the ground, Jongho lost both his parents and their hattery overnight. Without a coin to his name nor a bed to lie in, Jongho was shipped to the nearest orphanage.

As far as they knew, he never arrived.

Jongho slipped into the night without a second thought, taking nothing more than the clothes on his back and some food rations for the long journey. A long journey that proved hard without much direction but Jongho quickly found himself to enjoy that thrill. Not knowing where he would sleep next, whether he would eat that day or not, or even where he’d end up in his aimless walking invigorated his will to live. He began taking small odd jobs in various cities and, in the process, picking up stories and songs just as he had always dreamed of. 

Enter Kim Hongjoong and, by extension, the Treasure.

He was cornered by a particularly nasty group of vagabonds. But years of crafting hats and various work had lent him surprising strength, and the crew of the Horizon had been lucky enough to wander by the alley just as he finished taking care of his problem. Jongho had not gotten away unscathed, however, ending up with a stab wound or two. They’d brought him back to the Horizon, where the ship medic, Park Seonghwa, had tended to his wounds. 

When offered a place among the crew, not a trace of hesitation could be heard in his agreeance. 

Jongho was, until their “dark sides” came along, the newest member upon the Horizon. Though just over the age of seventeen, he was still young and had zero experience for seafaring vessels. They were accommodating towards him and never belittled that experience though, and Jongho learned that pirates weren’t quite as bad as stories made them out to be. Still dangerous and reckless, but with considerably less murder than late night tavern tales often sang of. 

So, as one would imagine, Jongho gained overwhelming respect for the crew of the Horizon, Hongjoong especially. He idolized him, the man that swooped in while he too had been barely above the age of a child. A man that dedicated his life to protecting a ragtag little group ostracised from society. People who had lost something, or someone, they cared about, just as he had.

Enter Choi Hojong—a name chosen by the clone himself.

Following in the footsteps of his leader, Jongho was less than thrilled to suddenly gain another version of himself. They shared the same face, the same voice, and the same mannerisms, but Hojong was … different. From the moment Jongho first laid eyes on him, he knew that his counterpart carried more influence and power than the rest. All of them had assumed Joong would assume control, given he was the captain of the Horizon, but never had they been more wrong.

How quickly Hojong took command over their counterparts should’ve been cause for concern. 

With the chaos of Jongho's current life, mixed with his near-inhuman strength, it really shouldn't have been a surprise. His natural charisma and ability to control a room manifested from Hojong within the first week of their appearance. Hojong got into scraps with Hongjoong often, the younger male challenging his authority and being a general nuisance whenever he decided it was time to cause trouble.

And Jongho  _ hated _ that.

For someone so grateful to Hongjoong and his crew for taking him in, it physically pained him to watch a man that shared his face act in such open disrespect. Pirates weren't too strict on rules and ranking but the underlying agreement to respect the ones who took you in had always been there.

But Jongho also knew he had saved them from the Treasure and returned them to the ship for recovery. So although he radiated dastardly vibes, he had to have at least  _ some _ of Jongho’s good—right?

Jongho hadn’t questioned it, but he knew Hongjoong and San spoke in hushed voices whenever they got the free time. They had never kept secrets from each other, especially regarding the Treasure, but Jongho could tell from energy alone that Hojong was the root of it. Not a threat, perhaps, but enough of a problem that required a form of secrecy. None of them had shown an interest in mutiny, at least outwardly, so though it was unsettling to stare yourself in the face when you least expected it, there had been little reason to worry or panic.

Some of them embraced it more than others.

In the beginning, Jongho was not one of them.

The first time Hojong sought him out for more …  _ intimate manners, _ Jongho had been finishing up the crafting of hats meant to throw off the difference in their appearances. Hojong was straightforward with his intentions at least—Jongho was grateful that part of himself had made it into his counterpart. Though reluctant, the other man had accepted his rejection of advances, and continued to do so the next four times it was brought up.

Jongho would be a liar if he didn’t admit to daydreaming about it once or twice afterwards. Sleeping with yourself … it was an appealing idea. Someone who knew your tastes, who shared the same body, who would know exactly where to touch to make it feel good? It was the kind of thing that only happened in someone’s wildest dreams, yet the crew of the Horizon had been given the chance. Unwillingly, but it was still there.

Yet, Jongho had made a promise to stay away from his other half, not wanting to fall into something that may cause trouble for both himself or Hongjoong—and he had done fairly well at sticking to that thus far.

Until, finally, it reached a tipping point.

xxx

“Care to let me join you for the night?” The voice broke him from his concentration, Jongho lowering the hat he was stitching so he could redirect his attention towards the source. It came in the form of Hojong, the person currently harboring the other half of his soul. A person that Jongho had gone through great lengths to ignore and avoid the past few weeks.

“You’re casting the wrong line. Go share a bed with someone else,” he replied, staring back in quiet defiance.

Hojong regarded him from the doorway of his cabin, the hat Jongho had made for him weeks prior casting a shadow over his eyes. His expression was calculating; it betrayed nothing.

“What? Is that not what you’re wanting?” Jongho set down his needle and thread as well, crossing his arms. The atmosphere of the room seemed to change in that momentary action.

"You're a fool, but you're  _ my _ fool," his counterpart finally whispered. "Unaware of just how handsome you are. Just what kind of effect you have on the people around you." Hojong advanced towards him, Jongho realizing the gravity of the situation. He observed him as one may observe a rat in a cage, following his body language as he drew closer. His expression had switched to an almost fake, overripe sweetness, arms folded behind his back. Jongho wasn't afraid—quite the opposite, truly. But there was something intrinsic and so damn  _ primal _ about realizing you were nothing more than cornered prey, a meal to sustain another being. That you were below them; that you were seen as less deserving of existing.

Hojong continued until he was poised before him, Jongho watching for any indication of his intent to strike. It came fast and unpredictable, true to his nature, hands flying out to snatch Jongho's wrists and tug him forward. The action offset his balance, forcing him to lean into Hojong’s chest lest he wished to lose his legs in the process.

“You’re afraid they don’t want you,” Hojong said quietly, and Jongho felt his blood run cold. “You’re afraid they don’t desire you like they desire each other.”

Jongho had never been shy with his words, but it was the first time he ever felt speechless at the expense of someone else.

“You are not a coward, and yet you hide in this room to avoid your feelings.” His counterpart tightened his grip as Jongho found his footing again, eye contact accumulating flame between them. “You can’t deny it Jongho; I am your other half. I know more about you than anyone else in the whole world.”

“What’s the point in telling me this?”

Hojong laughed but it was devoid of amusement. “Because you’re the most oblivious creature I’ve ever seen. You think you’re not worthy, but you are.” He leaned forward, brim of his hat brushing against Jongho’s forehead. “Allow me to show you every good quality you have, hm? From the eyes of someone who shares them.” His voice dipped in tone the more he spoke, lids lowering. The sound of it made the hairs on the back of Jongho’s neck raise. Yet, it wasn’t in a bad way. He was … intrigued. 

“Show me?” He questioned, voice betraying nothing.

Hojong’s lips twitched and he raised one of Jongho’s hands, bringing it to his mouth. He planted a kiss against one of his fingers, the roughness of his lips reminding Jongho that he was still a very real person. A tongue grazed the pad of his thumb, Hojong moving up so he could bite the tip with gentle force. Their eyes locked as he traced the curve of it with deliberate slowness. After swirling his tongue against the rough skin, he let go.

“These,” Hojong began, kissing the tip of his index finger next, “You have no idea the power these hold. They can do so many things.” He moved to the middle one, planting two kisses upon it. “They can create beauty,” another kiss to his ring finger, “But they can also destroy.” Hojong ended his work with a soft nip at Jongho’s pinky, the latter involuntarily gasping at the feeling of it. “And these … years of hard work, put on display for everyone,” he continued, nosing into Jongho’s palm. His tongue darted out, tracing the outlines of calluses earned from his days spent as a gunner. “Your hands alone are reason enough for everyone to want you.”

Jongho parted his lips to answer but Hojong stopped him as his tongue found a cut he had earned from his needle moments before his arrival. He pressed against it with rough insistence, Jongho wincing as a spark of pain went through his hand. Hojong sealed his mouth over it, sucking at the cut even as Jongho squirmed in his grip. His body reacted to the strange stimulus of pain and pleasure, feeling his blood begin to rush down below. 

He let go of the cut, much to Jongho’s relief, and moved back to his fingers. The grip on his wrist grew tighter as he took both his index and middle fingers between his lips, just beyond his first knuckle. His counterpart’s tongue was surprisingly soft. Hojong dragged it along the rough skin, sucking lightly as he did so, and Jongho couldn’t stop the low groan that rumbled from deep within his chest. The other man smiled around his fingers and allowed them ever further, teeth sinking into the skin hard enough to deter Jongho from wiggling them at all. Hojong sucked at them with a purposeful slowness, the thumb against his neglected wrist beginning to rub slow circles atop his veins. 

Jongho shivered. He knew he could pull away, or even stop Hojong if he wanted to. But part of him didn’t want it to end. He wanted  _ more, _ and that thought alone was enough to shake him to the core. Hojong knew what he was doing despite Jongho’s own lack of experience, and he could only imagine what his other half had been up to with everyone else when he wasn’t around.

Hojong, as if sensing those thoughts, let go of Jongho’s other wrist and brought up his newly freed hand to caress the back of the other one. His fingertips traced his knuckles as he continued to suck at the ones just short of being down his throat. Nails ghosted along his veins, feather light and carrying a strange mix of danger that had Jongho feeling lightheaded. His hand twitched in Hojong’s grip, the movement spurring him on.

And then Hojong pulled back, leaving him breathy and weak in the knees, and Jongho could almost _ smell  _ the satisfaction radiating off of him.

“Sit in your chair and I’ll leave. Sit on your bed and I’ll stay,” Hojong said suddenly, completely letting go of him.

Jongho felt a mix of anger and nervousness rush through him, cheeks burning hotly. Hojong had riled him up on purpose and then had the audacity to leave him hard and wanting. He could feel his heartbeat in his wrists, the places his counterpart had been playing with hot and aching. So though Jongho hated it in the moment, he had to commend Hojong for the absolutely brilliant plan he’d concocted. 

Making sure his legs wouldn’t give out in the process, Jongho made his choice.

He followed the wall’s edge until he could sink down onto a patchy sheet of fabric, rubbing at the ache in his wrists; they would likely bruise come morning. 

Hojong smiled at him. He watched as his counterpart removed his hat, dropping it onto his work table. The man hesitated, pulling something from the surface. A hand was raised, finger wagging in his direction to silence his protest. “Don’t worry, Jongho. It’ll be fun,” he replied, voice singsong and unsettling. His arms were shoved behind his back yet again. For the second time that evening, Jongho felt like nothing more than a fly in a spider’s web, trapped between the bed and the aura surrounding Hojong. He stalked towards him with the same gait of a cat cornering a mouse and stopped in front of him. Up close, Jongho could see a few strands of his hair adorned with little glass beads. Despite sharing the same face, he somehow felt they suited Hojong more than they ever would for himself.

When his hands appeared again, they were clad in the worn leather gloves Jongho had purchased months prior for crafting purposes. The lanterns affixed to the ceiling cast a sheen upon the leather, illuminating the way they clung to Hojong’s fingers perfectly. He extended his hand, allowing his fingertips to ghost along Jongho’s jawline. Jongho was well acquainted with the gloves, had worn them plenty of times the past few months actually, but being touched with them was somehow so much hotter. 

The hand upon his face moved to nudge against his lips, thumb and index finger gripping the bottom one and tugging on it. Jongho allowed Hojong to gently open his mouth, the taste of leather and metal faint upon the material. “Allow me to compliment these too, hm? They’re so full and pretty, perfect for pleasing,” Hojong murmured, shoving his thumb further. He pressed the pad of it into Jongho’s tongue with enough pressure to render him incapable of speech. Hojong opted for stroking beneath Jongho’s chin, keeping his thumb in place. 

Saliva flooded his mouth as he fought the urge to swallow. Jongho unconsciously palmed himself through his drawers, feeling how hard his cock was straining to be freed. Being hard just from someone sucking on his fingers would’ve been embarrassing if he wasn’t so into it.

Hojong spotted the movement within seconds, other hand darting out to snatch at Jongho’s arm. He tugged it away with surprising force, catching even Jongho off guard. “Such an eager boy tonight,” he teased quietly, tilting Jongho’s head back. “Are you turned on just from me touching you? Or is it the praise? You like being complimented, Jongho?” A tiny moan bubbled from his throat, Hojong’s brow raising at the noise. “Allow me to continue then.”

He retracted both of his hands, but only long enough to place the right one upon Jongho’s chest. “May I undress you?”

Jongho was only a  _ little _ ashamed of how fast he nodded, unable to find proper words.

Hojong wasted no time in getting to work, and Jongho was glad he’d retired to his quarters early that evening; he was only wearing a simple black shirt. His counterpart hooked his hands beneath the edges of Jongho’s shirt and tugged it up and over his head, leaving him bare chested in the cool air of his cabin. He wasted no time in tossing it onto the floor beside them and then all of his attention was back upon Jongho.

“Move back for me.” 

Jongho stared at him for a moment. Seconds ticked by, until some part of his brain gave the green light for him to listen. He shifted back on the bed until the backs of his knees knocked against the edge.

“Further back, against the wall.” Another moment of open-mouthed staring later and Jongho opened, scooting along his messy sheets to settle back against the wall. Just what the hell was Hojong planning?

“Yes, like that. Perfect,” Hojong praised, Jongho watching as he shrugged his jacket off. It was tossed onto his chair, followed swiftly by his own shirt. 

“What are you doing?” Jongho questioned, eyeing him warily.

Hojong snorted. “Hey, I’m trying to have a good time too. Just let me work my magic. Don’t think too much.”

_ Kinda hard when _ you’re  _ involved. _

Jongho’s eyes went wide as Hojong crawled onto the bed. Ah, so that’s why. He waddled over to him, swinging his legs over Jongho’s so he could slide into his lap. Hojong settled onto his thighs, effectively trapping him against the mattress and offering him a faint leverage over him. Smirking, he pressed the gloves against Jongho’s shoulders so he could rebalance all of his weight to a tolerable level. The warmth from Hojong’s hands hadn’t been given enough time to seep into the gloves just yet. Jongho shied away as the cool press of leather was redirected to his collarbone—Hojong just laughed.

“They’ll heat up fast,” he murmured, as if that was the most important problem in that moment.

“Not the gloves I’m worried about,” which was also a lie, but Jongho was a little more worried about the way Hojong’s own bulge was pressing up against his. He had a feeling it would be addressed soon, however.

“Oh. Allow me to get back on task then.” As he spoke, Hojong trailed his hands further down Jongho’s body, stopping to squeeze at his pectorals. His thumbs traced circles around his nipples, Jongho shivering as they pebbled at the combination of touch and air. Hojong rolled them between his fingers then, eliciting a moan from Jongho. “You’re insecure in your shoulders, but I know they’re perfect. Strong and broad, with the right amount of muscle. You have no idea how everyone looks at you when you take your shirt off above deck.”

“Are you saying you do?” Jongho said, voice closer to a strained whisper than he would’ve liked.

Hojong smirked. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He let go, trailing his hands further down. Touching normally had no effect on Jongho but the added element of the leather, ghosting along his skin lightly, heightened the sensation. Realizing that an object you were normally so well-versed in had become foreign was a strange feeling. But it was true. Something about Hojong wielding the gloves Jongho had lovingly chosen for his work, especially in a manner meant to be used against him, made it so much better. His body reacted to the touching more than it ever would if Jongho was doing it on his own. You know, ignoring the fact that they were technically the same person.

His thumbs stopped as they reached the top of Jongho’s stomach, hovering just above the ridges of soft abdominal muscles. Hojong’s attention turned downwards, Jongho’s following out of lack of anything else to focus on. “And these, Jongho … I can personally confirm two members of your crew have  _ dreamed _ of running their tongues along them.” He traced each one, side to side, mapping out the entirety of his stomach until he reached the top of Jongho’s drawers. 

“W-who?” He finally managed to ask, eyes following as Hojong purposefully traced back up the center of his stomach.

“That’s not my place to share.” Hojong raked his fingers back down Jongho’s abdominal muscles, tickling the edge of his drawers. “You’ll have to figure it out on your own. I promise they want you, Jongho. Especially with a body like this … they’re practically salivating over you.”

“... You’re being awfully  _ nice _ this evening,” he responded, finally managing to pull his eyes away from Hojong’s hands to look him in the eye. His counterpart followed suit, the two of them regarding each other. He couldn’t tell what Hojong was thinking and that scared him a little, given the man’s ability to somehow read Jongho like an open book. After weeks of watching him cause trouble, Jongho had expected him to be … meaner? Or maybe a little more forceful. But perhaps, since he was the human he shared a soul with, he felt naturally inclined to be a somewhat decent person. Now wasn’t really the time to ponder over it, though Jongho knew he’d bring it up with Seonghwa later.

“Can I not lavish you with attention and praise? Must I be a menace at all hours of the day?” Hojong replied dramatically. At the sight of Jongho’s frown, his expression shifted. “Would you like me to be meaner? I thought were enjoying the praise, but perhaps you’re craving something else.”

Then Hojong palmed him through rough fabric, the sudden press of his hand against Jongho’s straining cock making him jump. He gave him a hard squeeze and Jongho bit his lip to stifle a noise. Hojong’s attention turned downward then, both hands moving to free Jongho from his drawers. Gloved fingers caressed his length as a swathe of cool air rushed to meet him.

“Look at how big you are. Bet you don’t even know how to use this thing.” Hojong fisted him then, squeezing with a borderline uncomfortable grip. The feeling was only heightened by the press of warm leather, the worn softness pressing against his shaft in all the right ways. “Useless cock on such a handsome boy. Guess I’ll have to teach you how to use it before you ever get a chance to sleep with one of them.” Here, he gasped dramatically, and Jongho loathed the mocking tone dripping from his words. “Maybe that’s the secret! You’re worried they don’t want you, but you have no idea how to pleasure them even if they asked for it.”

“If you don’t be quiet, I  _ will _ kick you out,” Jongho suddenly hissed, the outburst actually catching Hojong off guard. 

His counterpart stared at him with open mouthed shock. It only lasted a moment before he laughed shortly. “There’s the fire I’ve been looking for.” Hojong pumped his cock once, then twice, then a third time, all with quick force meant to steal his breath; it worked. Jongho squirmed but it did little given how he was pinned by the other man. “You wouldn’t kick me out now and we both know it.”

Jongho hated that he was right.

So, why couldn’t he have a bit of fun with it too?

He raised his arms, reaching out for Hojong’s own trousers and tugging at the strings there. Hojong prodded at one of his arms to stop him but one intense look from Jongho made him pause. “You said you were in it for your own pleasure too, right? Then let me take care of you too.”

Hojong traced the inside of Jongho’s wrist, a calculating look upon his face. “I did, but I have a specific idea in mind. If you’re that eager, shall I speed it up?”

“I would say I’d be a little annoyed if you didn’t,” Jongho answered flatly.

Hojong shrugged. “That’s fair.” He let go of Jongho’s cock, opting for knocking his hands out of the way. Jongho let him this time, watching as he untied his own pants and freed his own neglected hardness. His mouth went dry at the sight of his own dick from a different angle. It was weird how turned on by that he was but Jongho figured whatever rational part his mind once possessed had checked out a long time ago. He stroked himself for a moment before he shifted a little closer, their tips brushing. “Perfect.”

Jongho’s next question was answered a moment later, Hojong managing to corral both of their cocks together with one hand. He wasted no time in jacking them together, the combined feeling of the gloves and the grip Hojong had on them forcing a moan to spill from his lips. His head fell back against the wall, one hand flying up to grasp weakly at his counterpart’s wrist. 

“Too much?” Hojong asked with a chuckle.

_ “Not enough,” _ he groaned, managing to roll his hips into the touch.

“Noted.” Jongho startled as fabric knocked against his lips. He opened his mouth with minimal hesitation, gloved fingers dipping back inside. Warm leather traced his tongue and he met Hojong’s smug look through hooded eyes. “Suck on them all you want. Moan all you want. Just let me  _ handle _ it.” Jongho was tempted to bite him from that joke alone, but then a thumb swirled against his slit and his brain blanked for a moment.

Hojong didn’t hold back, working their cocks together with practiced ease. Jongho had no idea where he’d learned all of it, given he himself had only participated in anything sexual once or twice, but he also had no idea what Hojong had been up to the past few weeks. He allowed himself to get lost in sensation, head growing hazy as Hojong worked him over like some cheap whore from the mainland. Jongho could do nothing else but drool around the fingers being shoved down his throat, his own hands gripping at Hojong’s covered thighs with enough force to bruise. Like the latter would care—or perhaps that was what he wanted in the first place.

“You’re so messy from  _ this, _ ” Hojong hissed at length. “I can only imagine what you’d look like on your knees,  _ begging _ to suck my cock.”

Jongho barely heard him, blissed out and so near euphoria that anything else might overwhelm him in the moment. Hojong pulled his hand free, dragging the saliva-slick leather down the corner of his mouth to grasp lightly at his throat.

He squeezed, forcing his vision to shake, and that finished him off.

Jongho’s hips jumped in Hojong’s grasp, the heat in his stomach snapping as he came hard enough to send stars exploding across his field of vision. The grip on his cock grew wet and hot from his release, Hojong not letting go just yet. He continued to work them over, desperate noises Jongho didn’t even know he was capable of escaping his throat.

Then the hottest thing Jongho had ever seen happened.

Hojong’s tongue lolled from his mouth, a tiny dribble of spit dripping from it. His eyes slid shut, a high-pitched whine he didn’t even know he could make gracing his ears. The grip on their cocks went slack, and Jongho redirected tired eyes down, watching cum splash down the glove he was still wearing. Later, when his mind returned, he would be upset at the idea of them being dirty. But in that moment he couldn’t get over just how attractive it was seeing the black leather covered in milky white fluid.

“Damn, I really am handsome,” Jongho breathed.

“Told you so,” Hojong grumbled. “Maybe you’ll learn how to be confident now, though you could  _ really _ use some more experience.” Their eyes met, Hojong winking at him.

“And you’re gonna be the one to teach me?” Jongho fired back, finally letting go of the other man’s thighs so he could rub soothing circles into the areas he’d been holding onto. 

“Of course. Who else will, when you won’t even bring it up to them?”

Jongho winched as Hojong finally allowed his legs free, settling next to him. He stretched his legs, allowing the blood to flow back within them. It was the only movement he allowed himself, however, not trusting in his body to move elsewhere. “This isn’t a very …  _ you _ move.”

“Heh, perhaps, but it’ll do you some good to learn something useful.”

“I would’ve thought you’d keep me to yourself. Teaching me to sleep with someone else … that’s  _ very _ unlike you,” Jongho replied. The dangerous aura Hojong often exuded had returned, despite what they’d just done, and something about the way he was speaking had put him on the edge once more—there was no time to enjoy the afterglow.

“Oh, make no mistake, Jongho. You are mine,” Hojong laughed, voice dripping with danger. He extended the clean glove and gripped Jongho’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet through the flickering haze between them. “I am your other half—you will  _ always _ be mine.”

Jongho couldn’t tell if the feeling those words elicited within was fear or excitement.


	7. paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fair point,” Minki hummed. “But I’ll be the one fucking you.” 
> 
> _Counting on it,_ he thought quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mingi + semi-public sex(?), rimming, + riding
> 
> sorry this took so long x__x mingi gave me ,, a lot of trouble lmao ,, I kinda went wild with his backstory too so I apologize for how long that portion is for this chapter ;w; but I hope you enjoy it regardless!!
> 
> (I will also respond to comments soon, I promise! sorry for being garbage alslajsk)

Mingi was a smart man.

Resourceful, quick-witted, deceiving features; there was little question over what qualities made him a pirate. He shared the ability of misdirection with San, often proving them to be quite the duo when initiating thievery and other shenanigans. With broad shoulders, polite smile, and mainland accent … it was easy to trust him. Mingi didn’t look the part of pirate but he was certainly good at playing it. A mistake that, for many, was their last.

Comparing the Mingi of the past to the Mingi now, you would never know they were the same person.

His childhood was much, much different. He had grown up rich, surrounded by lavish toys and expensive gifts within a mansion worth more than any pirate could earn in a year. Waited on hand and foot, spoonfed if he so desired, Mingi had been born with the thing pirates despised the most—a silver spoon. It was an easy life most were only lucky enough to dream of. Brought meals with a snap of your fingers, new clothing purchased the moment the tailor hung it within a shop window, rare animals from faraway lands kept as pets … and money. More money than a poor man from the streets would ever know what to spend it upon. 

And Mingi  _ hated _ it.

With the good came the bad. His childhood had been ruleset after ruleset. How to dress, how to act, even how to stand—if it didn’t have a rulebook already, his parents would craft one overnight. Being an only child only made it worse. It went beyond overprotective nature, to the point where Mingi could barely step outside without a servant as an escort. Really, his parents should’ve predicted he would grow exasperated with being treated in such a manner. He was no more their child than their prisoner. In their effort to protect him, their grip reached the point of suffocation, and Mingi sought solace in old stories and picture books hidden within their dusty library.

Stepping through the library doors became, in essence, his first step into a new life.

Mingi discovered old military reports and yellowed drawings of impressive ships scattered about his father’s study. He consumed every single one with feverish need, pouring through document after document and studying every drawing for every intricate detail. Mingi learned the basics of sailing, as well as the routes their government had mapped, and even more. The thought of adventure initiated daydreams of mighty sails billowing above him and adrenaline surging through his body as they fired a cannon at an opposing vessel. And then Mingi realized he could use his parent’s desire for education against them.

It started with a bird, which made the maids scoff and his parents laugh. But Mingi had read something about a fierce captain with a bird upon his shoulder, and being young and lonely, insisted on getting one. And being the son of wealthy parents who were happy his interests had turned to something a little less wild allowed it.

So Mingi ended up with a sun conure that he affectionately named Mango. The bird hated him at first, justifiably so given she had been stolen from her natural habit, but she eventually warmed up to him. Mingi took care of her better than anyone around him expected him to, preening her feathers and feeding her despite the constant bites. Over time, she warmed up to him, and then he taught her how to ride around on his shoulder. His ears were nibbled on a lot but he didn’t mind, and he quickly became known as the bird boy from down the way. He didn’t mind that either, because he could finally take Mango outside without her flying away on him.

Then he got even craftier. 

Mingi expressed interest in sword fighting lessons. His mother insisted it was too dangerous but his father, stick of tradition shoved far up his ass, thought it a fine idea.

_ ‘Boys should be able to woo their women with combat! This is excellent news!’ _

….. or whatever.

So Mingi got his way with that too, learning how to wield a sword in a traditional manner—boring manner, he whispered behind his instructor’s back. The fun stuff he learned on his own, combing over old books and drinking in any knowledge he could. Mingi still played the part of a good child like his parents wanted, and the pair of them went about their days without a single clue over what he was doing under their noses. What were the maids gonna do, tell on him? They knew he could get them fired within seconds. Not that he ever would but they didn’t need to know that part.

The final step in his intricate plan came in the form of languages. Between money to hire expert teachers and the books at his disposal, Mingi taught himself the basics of English, Korean, Chinese, Japanese, and more in the span of a year. 

His parents helped shape him into a pirate without ever knowing they had done so. 

After two years of careful planning and grueling lessons, Mingi enacted his plan. Stealing a large portion of his family’s fortune and taking nothing but a change of clothes and a bundle of ship blueprints, he began the journey that eventually landed him amid the crew that would one day control the Horizon. His money had appealed to Hongjoong’s mother first, and then his spirit—and then her soft spot for Mango, because of course she needed to go as well. They didn’t trust him in the beginning, which was understandable; he wouldn’t trust him were he in their situation either. Mingi kept his head down, followed orders, and eventually earned his place upon the ship. Within time, Hongjoong and, by extension San, began to invite him to eat and other shenanigans.

Mingi never looked back, and they never asked his roots.

In the world of piracy, it didn’t really matter anyway. All that mattered was your ability to wield a sword and raise a sail.

Being one of Hongjoong’s original crewmates meant a variety of adventures. He had witnessed the sinking of ships and the pillages of tiny towns. He had explored faraway islands and sampled foods from distant lands. Adventure seeped into his body and soaked so thoroughly into his bones that Mingi effectively disconnected himself from the life he had left behind. Young Mingi had died the moment he stepped foot upon waterlogged planks and weathered railings. Older Mingi loved adventure and danger and the smell of salty ocean air, hands tending to the cannons below deck and training new crew members how to properly fight. He claimed no affiliation to the blood he left behind—his new family was the only one that mattered.

But, even for a seasoned adventurer like Mingi, he hadn’t been prepared in the slightest for what the Treasure offered him.

He had no wish, truthfully, for he already had everything he needed, but the fire in Hongjoong’s eyes when he waxed poetic over it was enough to convince Mingi to care. His ambition and pressing need to find it, mixed with the prospect of anything your heart had ever desired, inspired the crew around him. Mingi recalled reading something related to it in the past. Just a simple paragraph from some old journal, plucked from the body of a felled pirate, of a glorious power offered to their crew—for a price of course. It had never been mentioned, and Mingi had merely filed the initial information away in his brain for later. Faced with it now … he wished he had paid more attention to the ramblings of the dead.

Mingi didn’t hate his other half. He could count the number of things he  _ did _ hate on one hand, but Minki was not amongst them. Mango, on the other hand,  _ loathed _ him. All of them actually, aside from Joong, who she only barely tolerated because he had offered her favorite snack of dried bananas once. It was hell trying to share a cabin with Minki the first week or so. Mango would squawk at him in anger whenever she deemed it appropriate, which included in the middle of the night when Mingi just wanted to sleep. She settled a bit after the second week but Minki still couldn’t get near her without receiving a bite or some upset puffing, even a month or so later.

Which unfortunately meant that Mingi was forced to leave her behind with Hongjoong due to the mission he had been sent on. Stealthy stakeouts paired with an upset screeching bird … a bad idea, lest he wanted his cover blown. Luckily Mingi had made this run plenty of times in the last few years so delays were minimal assuming weather stayed clear. A quick two day mission involving the theft of gunpowder, something only Mingi could carry out given his experience with the cannons. They had sent San once when Mingi was ill, the quartermaster an expert thief but apparently not smart enough to know coffee from gunpowder. Mingi had to go back the next day out of necessity, but at least they got some gold out of the bag of coffee San had swiped. 

So, Mingi became the only one with permission to go—until Minki came around.

After a day of trudging through dense undergrowth, they had finally reached the ridge Mingi had used for years as a makeshift camp. A tiny cave, hidden by vines and protected by a large boulder, while the inside sat alive with moss and a small hot spring at the back. Humid and wet, which made the possibility of a fire difficult, but would keep his location hidden if he managed to find a spark. Those factors had never bothered Mingi though. It wasn’t much different from life on a ship, just minus the constant motion and salty tang to the air. 

Plus it was nice to soak in the hot springs, though he had never done so with another person present. Let alone someone who shared his face.

Not personality though. Once it became apparent that their counterparts had taken specific traits and amplified them it became easier. For some of them anyway. Luckily Mingi was included in that. Minki had manifested with all of the traits Mingi loved in himself. Adventurous, loud, bold, unafraid of a challenge … but amplified.  _ Dangerously.  _ Mingi liked dares, but Minki would do dumb shit just because Yu dared that he couldn’t. Though he supposed there was no harm it when they couldn’t die. Not to mention he was, again, bold. Much like his human counterpart, he knew what he wanted, and he wasn’t afraid to attempt to get it.

Mingi figured that was what landed them in that situation that evening.

They had skipped the fire that night, due to an encounter with a jaguar earlier that day. Their meal came in the form of dried meat and some fresh picked mangoes from outside, the latter of which became the catalyst.

“I hope Mango is doing alright,” he voiced, taking a bite of the sweet fruit.

“I’m sure she’s fine. Joong is probably showering her in love and affection,” Minki scoffed, juggling his half-eaten mango between his hands.

“I doubt that,” Mingi laughed, palm splaying against the stone floor as he leaned back. “He probably has more bites from my bird than from Hongjoong at this point.”

Minki visibly perked up at the last sentence, his juggling coming to a halt. Despite the cave being drenched in shadow, tiny cracks in the ceiling above the hot springs provided just enough light to make out the notable change in expression on Minki’s face. “More bites than Hongjoong, eh? So you’re aware of what goes on in the Captain’s Quarters?”

“Of course I am,” he responded, taking another bite. He chewed at it for a moment longer than he should’ve, swallowing deliberately. “You really think Woo can keep quiet about things like this?”

Minki laughed, the sound drifting through their makeshift camp. “Woo has never been quiet in his life.” 

“He’s like, barely two months old.”

“That’s still his whole life!”

Mingi just shook his head, finishing his mango off. “I just worry she may attempt to fly off or something.”

“She is a bird,” Minki deadpanned, shoulders raising into a shrug. “But,” he continued, catching the awful side-eye coming his way, “If she hasn’t flown away yet, I doubt she will—she adores you.”

“Mango is just … a fickle bird. Has a personality all her own; bet she won’t even accept bananas from me for the first week,” Mingi lamented. His gaze traveled to the steam rising from the hot springs in the back of the cave, moonlight catching it just right, and he shrugged. “I’m just gonna soak for a bit and then get some sleep; we have another long day of walking ahead of us.” He pushed himself to his feet and made his way towards the pool, carefully avoiding the slick moss so as not to fall. Mingi had never been the shy type, and even if it were someone other than Minki in that cave, he still would’ve stripped bare before them. He did so now, careful to hang his clothing from the rocks jutting from the cave wall to spare them a little dampness. Then, for the first time in close to three months, dipped his toes into pleasantly warm water. 

The pool had been used by Mingi many times in the past but it always carried a note of unfamiliarity whenever he used it again. Most animals avoided the steaming water, leaving it untainted, but erosion over time often left a sharp stone here or a new sitting place there. Not much had changed this time, aside from a usual relaxation corner losing a comfortable ledge. The other side made up for it, Mingi sinking into the steaming water with a sigh of relief. His muscles relaxed almost immediately as the water rose to mid chest. He hadn’t told anyone else in his crew about the tiny getaway and he relished in knowing he could keep such a special place secret. As far as everyone knew, the gunpowder heist was a grueling four day journey of walking and little rest; no one needed to know the truth.

Except for Minki, who was regarding him from next to the fire with a calculating expression.

“You look tense,” his counterpart finally voiced, raising a knee so he prop an arm against it. “I can help with that, if you want.”

“That’s what the water is for,” Mingi sighed pleasantly, sinking further into the warmth embracing him.

“No, no, something else.” Minki crawled towards the hot spring with deliberate slowness, only stopping when he could comfortably arrange himself upon the far side; their eyes met. “I know what you need.”

Mingi’s head cocked to the side, an enticing sense of danger flooding his body. A smart man, but he chose to play dumb in that moment. “What do I need?”

His counterpart chuckled. “I am you, and you are me, remember? I know what you do here on your own, Mingi.” Minki’s voice carried a tone of authority and despite Mingi’s free-spirited nature, his interest had been captured.

“And what is it I do on my own here, Minki?” 

He smiled. “I can only imagine how many times you’ve cum in that water alone.”

Mingi just shook his head but the amusement was clear. “And what about it?”

Minki wiggled out of his shirt then, tossing it back towards the fire slowly simmering down beyond them. “I wanna be the one to make you do it this time,” he deadpanned. The seriousness with which the words were said made Mingi burst into laughter, causing Minki to frown. “I’m trying to be  _ suave _ and you’re totally ruining the mood.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he replied, waving his hand. “Hmm …” Given Mingi’s admission of knowing Joong’s sexual escapades, and the  _ other _ stories Woo shared when it was just the two of them, he had been expecting Minki to make such a request for awhile. Not quite in this way but a request nonetheless. So as one would imagine, he wasn’t put off by it—the opposite actually. Mingi motioned to the water. “You gonna join me then? Water’s getting cold.”

“Doubt that,” Minki grumbled, standing only long enough to mirror Mingi’s own lack of clothing. He wasted not a moment more, slipping into the steaming water and sinking far enough down that the hot liquid could bubble against his chin. Mingi watched in amusement as he sighed dreamily, recalling the first time he had done the same. Perhaps Minki was channeling that memory too.

After a bit of silence between them, the fire burning into a pile of ashes, Minki finally refocused his attention back upon Mingi. The latter perked up, unashamed to admit that the possibility of getting off had him humming with energy. Minki took that as an invitation to move closer, moving through the water with stealth equal to a shark. Hands brushed against his kneecaps, traveling up along his thighs as Minki crowded into his personal space. Mingi allowed it, parting his legs so his counterpart could settle between them like he was made to be there. A hand poked free from the water’s depths, rising to gently cup Mingi’s chin.

“Tell me, Mingi—would you like me to make the fantasy you pine over in the dead of night a reality? I can make it so.” Minki’s tone had lowered again, sending a chill down Mingi’s spine despite the obvious warmth pressing into him from every angle.

It wasn’t every day he received an offer such as this. So it was also no surprise that his mind was already made up, as if it hadn’t been the moment the mood within the cave had shifted. 

Rather than answer verbally, he leaned into Minki’s grip and angled his head, allowing their mouths to slide together. Minki’s lips were also his own, but the ability to map them out in a mirrored fashion added a new sense of excitement to the mix. His counterpart allowed him to control the kiss at first, letting Mingi nip and suck at his bottom lip before attempting to deepen it. Then Minki grew fed up with the slow exploratory pace and took over, grasping Mingi by the back of his neck and holding him in place while he worked to shove his tongue down his throat. He tasted sweet, the juice leftover from their mangoes sugary sweet and intoxicating. Mingi groaned in response, hands coming up to frame Minki’s torso in a tight grip.

Minki pulled away moments later, biting Mingi’s bottom lip with enough pressure to leave a mark but not break skin. Last thing they needed in the middle of the jungle was blood after all. He let go of Mingi’s neck and slid his arms on either side of his body instead, supporting his weight against the edge of the hot spring; his smirk was clear in the moonlight.

“Turn around for me. Lean against the edge, drape over it for support if you need it. Just let me work my magic.”

Mingi wasted no time in obeying. He had been neglected far too long already. (At this point in the evening, he would’ve cum at least twice already.) But he was eager to play Minki’s game, so following his rules was a must. His elbows knocked against the stone a bit uncomfortably but there was nothing he could do about it. Mingi turned so his back was to Minki, knees coming to rest against the ledge of stone and upper half partly hanging over the lip of the pool. This put his ass halfway submerged in the hot water around him, the cool night air contrasting with his upper half and forcing a shiver out of him. He felt a bit vulnerable at that moment, giving up a bit of control he was so used to having. But was it  _ really _ giving up control if the other person was technically your other half too?

“You’re a little eager.” Minki laughed softly, hands sliding from the stone to his thighs and traveling up cup his cheeks. He flexed his fingers against the globes of flesh, massaging them with his palms. “I didn’t bring any of the oil Yu swiped,” he quietly admitted.

“Not every day you get to fuck your lookalike,” Mingi grumbled, feeling the pad of Minki’s thumb swipe feather-light along his hole. “What do you think we used before? Spit’s fine.”

“Fair point,” Minki hummed. “But I’ll be the one fucking you.” 

_ Counting on it, _ he thought quietly. 

Mingi made a noise of surprise as Minki suddenly shoved him forward, forcing his knees from the ledge and giving his counterpart full control of his body. His chest knocked against the stone floor, the angle collapsing his arms to rest upon it in a similar fashion. Minki just laughed, shifting into his own desired position. The timeline between being pushed and the sudden press of Minki’s tongue at his hole was approximately thirty seconds. His lack of patience, that perhaps Minki had been dreaming of doing this too, pulled a soft moan from Mingi’s throat.

And then he realized why his counterpart had chosen this position.

His poor cock, pinned against the edge of the hot spring, sat with the tip just barely submerged by the hot water. Mingi squirmed at the realization but Minki had effectively trapped him there, and he had full intention of keeping him there until he decided they were done.

Then his attention refocused upon the tongue prodding at his entrance, tracing over the pucker with deliberate slowness. Minki lowered his mouth to Mingi’s balls, sucking on one of them lightly, before he pressed the tip of his tongue just above. Torturously slow, he then proceeded to drag it back up to Mingi’s hole, swirling around—but never pressing inside—before delivering a playful nip to one of his cheeks. He continued that cycle until Mingi’s nails dug into the rugged stone, back arched in desperation for something  _ more.  _

“Fuck Minki, stop teasing,” he finally groaned, giving a wiggle of his hips. 

Minki answered with a light slap to his right asscheek. Mingi whined in response, but it appeared he wasn’t done with his minor punishment. His teeth sank into the flesh of his other cheek, lips sealing as he sucked at his skin with the intent to bruise. He squirmed at the administrations, a thick fog rolling into his mind at Minki’s clear attempt to reduce him to a mess. Luckily for Mingi, he’d have to work a whole lot harder for that. Minki let go then, gently worrying at his work with his tongue, before he finally dragged the muscle back over to his original endeavour. 

“Plunder my booty, Minki.”

“Please stop talking,” the other man mumbled against his ass. 

Then, and only then, did Minki finally give Mingi what he wanted. Pulling his cheeks open with strong hands, Minki finally wiggled his tongue through the tight ring of muscle. Mingi hissed, dragging one finger particularly hard across the floor, but it was ignored in the moment. Readjusting his hands, Minki used his thumbs to part him ever further, fucking him hard and fast with his tongue. The lack of exhaustion or need for air created a dangerous rhythm in which Mingi received no break, Minki unraveling him at the seams until his forehead dropped against his arm and he drooled upon the rough stone. He was shown no mercy, eaten out for the first time in his life and losing himself in sensation as his counterpart worked to erase any bit of thought from his mind. Being of the same mind and body, Minki knew exactly how to work him over, squeezing his balls and rubbing the very tip of Mingi’s cock as his tongue darted in and out of him. Not with the goal to cum—more to relax his tense frame.

Only when Mingi released a broken sob did Minki allow him rest, pulling his tongue free and leaving his hole twitching and empty with pleasure aflame down his back. 

“Pleasepleaseplease f-fuck me,” he babbled, hands smoothing over the small of his back. They eased the tension from him and his counterpart allowed him to sink back to the ledge for a break. 

“You want to be used, Mingi? Used until you can’t even remember your own name?” Those magic hands paused at his hips.

“W-want it,” Mingi managed, enjoying the feeling of Minki massaging him gently.

The other man chuckled. Mingi heard him spit into his hand and then suddenly fingers were prodding at his entrance instead, his hole giving an excited twitch at the prospect of being filled once again. They slipped inside without much resistance, working him open ever further. Gods knew he’d need it, given Mingi’s reputation for biggest dick on the Horizon.

Which … was actually the source of his fantasy. Mingi wasn’t shy in asking for what he wanted, yet he always felt like an inconvenience or a ‘waste of time’ when it came to his own desires. He fucked his crewmates when they wanted it but he never knew how to ask for the same treatment back. In the end, he still got off, so what was the point in complaining? But now, being worked open and on the verge of tears from how  _ deliciously good _ everything felt … Mingi wished he had worked up the courage to ask someone earlier.

And then Minki’s fingers located a dangerous spot inside of him, forcing a zip of white-hot pleasure to send his eyes rolling back and the loudest moan of his life to echo through the cave. Minki just laughed, continuing to play with the sensitive bundle of nerves until one of Mingi’s hand involuntarily shot back to grasp his wrist. 

“You sure you’re gonna be able to handle me?” Minki questioned, allowing Mingi to put a stop to his teasing.

Mingi didn’t answer right away. He fought to catch his breath, the heat from the hot spring and the pleasure coursing through his frame making him feel drunk with need. “D-don’t underestimate me,” he finally managed, voice shaky. 

“Hm, I guess a better question is, will you be able to handle part two of your fantasy, dear Mingi?” The fingers inside of him shifted, scissoring him open and forcing a gasp through his lips. He answered with a nod of his head, earning a chuckle from Minki. “No, no—tell me. Can you handle it?” Minki dragged his fingers along that mess of nerves with a hard pressure. Mingi cried out in response.

“ _ Y-yes! _ Gods, yes!” 

An acceptable answer it seemed; the words were followed by Minki pulling his fingers free. Mingi allowed his counterpart to guide them into a new position, taking care in following his instructions. Once finished, it ended with Minki now sitting on the ledge and Mingi settled in his lap above him, staring down at his counterpart’s face with heavy eyes and the urge to kiss him senseless—as if he had that power in the first place. Minki’s cock pressed perfectly between his cheeks, his own trapped between their bodies.

“You look pretty,” Minki murmured.

“You look smug,” he mumbled back, pushing himself onto his knees so Minki’s tip could slide up to his hole. “Now or never, right?”

Minki didn’t answer but that was fine; it didn’t warrant one anyway. 

Sucking in a sharp breath, Mingi finally began what they had been building up to that evening. Reaching a hand around his body, he used it to keep Minki in place as he finally sank down upon his hard cock. The tip slipped in without much resistance, much to Mingi’s surprise, but his mind was a little more focused on the burning mix of pleasure and pain as it did so. Having been filled only by his fingers in the past, he hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect. It hurt but it also felt good, and each inch by  _ delectable inch _ stretched him wider and wider. Having your own cock in your ass was … an experience, but Mingi had never been so into something before in his life. Minki helped, playing with his nipples and murmuring soft praises and words of encouragement. But there wasn’t much more he could do, nor would Mingi have appreciated it in all honesty. He was allowed to go at his pace, taking his time to adjust to the intrusion and the feeling of being full.

When their hips finally sat flush, Mingi let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He stared at Minki with glazed eyes, tongue hanging from his lips as his heartbeat pulsed in his lower half. Pain and pleasure fought against one another but the latter pushed a little harder, making Mingi groan as Minki made minor adjustments to their positions.

“Just move when you’re ready, okay?” Minki’s hands framed his hips, massaging at the skin there. He made no attempt to pressure him or speed him up.

After close to five minutes of Mingi twitching around the length inside him, he offered an experimental roll of his hips. A groan escaped each of their lips, Mingi repeating the action once again. Newfound desire coiled up his body and spurred him onward, his hands coming up to grip Minki’s shoulders for some type of support. This gave him the leverage he needed to test out various speeds and angles, Minki giving him full control of the fantasy he had been dreaming of for months now. He rode Minki like his life depended on it, the cave filled with needy cries and desperate moans, until Minki crashed their lips together and swallowed them eagerly. Mingi worked his hips like he had done so his whole life.

At length, Minki weaseled a hand between their bodies and fisted Mingi’s cock. Too fucked out and desperate to protest, he thrust into the tight grip as his orgasm built in his body. Surprisingly, Minki came first, the low groan of need in his own voice giving him a renewed burst of energy as he was filled to the brim. The wet slide of Minki inside of him combined with the sensations all around his needy frame succeeded in pushing him over the edge, Mingi’s nails digging uncomfortably into Minki’s back as his mouth fell open in a silent scream. 

He collapsed against his counterpart, panting into his neck. From the water to what had just happened, Mingi felt tired and absolutely boneless; only slight concern swam in his mind over the heist they still needed to pull off the next night.

Minki chuckled softly and wrapped his arms around Mingi’s back, hefting them both with incredible strength from the hot spring. They moved back against the wall, completely free from the steaming liquid so their bodies could simultaneously cool and dry off.

“Twenty-four times,” Mingi whispered.

“What?” Minki blinked down at him.

“Twenty-four times I’ve cum in this cave.”

Minki couldn’t help but laugh. “You kept track?”

“You asked, so I counted.” Mingi pressed his hands against Minki’s shoulders once more, carefully slipping his dick from his ass. The slide pulled a pained hiss from his lips and Minki gently kissed his chin in response.

“Are you gonna be alright for tomorrow? Like, gonna be able to sneak in and incapacitate some guards and what not?” Minki questioned.

Mingi laughed too despite the pain. “You make it sound a whole lot more exciting than it is. We go in, we steal a bag of gunpowder, we leave—no guards involved.” Once the tip popped free, he immediately sagged back against Minki’s chest. He’d have to clean the cum out of himself later. “They’ve never been lucky enough to see me; you should know that.”

“Fair point,” Minki replied, smiling softly. He kissed Mingi’s chin yet again. “I’ll give you a massage in the morning before we go. Work some of the stiffness outta you.”

“Hmph, sounds like a plan to me.”

(Minki kept true to his word, working him over with practiced hands before the morning light filtered through the trees. Another day of walking, a masterful heist later, and they returned with double the amount of gunpowder. They wouldn’t need to visit the island for a longer period this time, but it was alright—Mingi could call upon Minki for some fun instead now. He now had yet another precious memory of the niche paradise that belonged only to him.)


	8. end of the beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You will have to work for it though, and I will not help you. Surely you can manage to get yourself off, hm? Can you do that for me, Seonghwa?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seonghwa + some cock stepping, authority kink, & boot riding

Seonghwa was … different.

From his personality to his reasons for existing upon the Horizon, he was different. 

A doctor, medic, surgeon, whatever you wished to call it—a damn good one, might he add—and a rarity among those who sailed the seas. Cursed to forever wander populated cities with a mask, hiding his face from view, lest he be recognized by the authorities. For Park Seonghwa was no ordinary pirate.

Park Seonghwa was a wanted criminal, even more so than any other soul harboured within the Horizon’s worn wood. A defected naval officer, containing knowledge far beyond his paygrade, hired to be captured by Kim Hongjoong and destroy their crew from the inside out. A wanted criminal that did none of those things, and instead became enamoured with their personalities and their determination. He had always been the type to be hesitant on placing opinions for people he did not know. Hongjoong and his crew were far from the bloodthirsty murderers that the wanted poster had plastered all over the land. They were resourceful and smart, with a vibrant array of character and, above all, a singular rule they all shared—they never took an innocent life. 

At first, Seonghwa only cared for the money. He was crafty, he was smart, he was skilled, and he knew they wouldn’t kill him if he ever was found out. He also knew they needed him. Medical officers of any kind just weren’t a thing among pirate vessels. No one had time to learn the ins and outs of medicine when you cared more for pillaging and thievery. Most in the life of piracy lacked the money as well. They used that knowledge to their advantage, presenting Seonghwa on a silver platter after wounding one of them—Yeosang, he later discovered.

They showed open distrust in the beginning. Rightfully so, considering where they had picked him up, but Seonghwa never did anything out of line. As days grew to weeks, and Seonghwa watched for any type of opening to undermine their order, he steadily learned more and more. He learned of Yeosang’s life as a cheap whore before being rescued, and how he truly had no wish other than to remain at Wooyoung’s side. He learned of Wooyoung’s playboy ways as a coping mechanism for the lack of parents in his childhood, who shared a similar wish to Yeosang. He learned of Yunho growing up a child actor, thrown into drama after drama, until he grew fed up with his controlling parents and ran away; Seonghwa still did not know his wish. He learned of San’s life on the streets, taking care of himself and learning how to survive with what he could get—another wish Seonghwa had not yet heard. He learned only minimal details of Mingi’s life before the Horizon, but it wasn’t essential when he was good with a sword and quick on his feet. He learned of Jongho last, the only member who joined their voyage after Seonghwa had been integrated into the everyday life upon the ship; he was a young boy with spirit and the ability to create.

Above all, he learned of Hongjoong’s hand in putting together what the Horizon’s crew was today. He learned that Hongjoong was not the ruthless captain wanted posters framed him as. He had passion and the need to create a safe haven for people like him, people who had lost anything and everything they had ever loved. He was their beacon, their guiding light, their hope. His personality was hot but his heart was not. And his wish … he wanted nothing more than for his mother to return and see the Treasure with her own eyes. Seonghwa found a bit of himself in Hongjoong too, and his change of heart came with the cool air of a summer moon.

They were a family, and Seonghwa felt like a fool for attempting to destroy the only good they had.

Even more so when he began to notice their shows of trust in him.

They opened up more. They invited him to dinner. They made an active effort for conversation. They loosened up in his presence. They laughed. They smiled. And, as a true show of pirate-based trust, they drank with him. 

Seonghwa had only been in it for the money in the beginning. He had no family. He had no home. He had nothing but the clothes on his back when he joined the navy. Hongjoong gave those to him. Hongjoong gave him a home, a place to belong, people who cared for him—and he loved it more than he could ever vocalize. It wasn’t like anyone could find him out at sea anyway, and for all his higher ups would know, he had been killed at the hands of Hongjoong and his crew. They became home and Seonghwa never looked back.

He never had a wish or a dream for the Treasure either. Seonghwa knew of it from a briefing with his higher ups in the beginning, something about a mythical thing many pirates sought but were never lucky enough to locate. The medic had always operated on the assumption that Hongjoong’s crew would fall before they ever grew close. Then he got close, and then he started to care about what such a powerful artifact could grant him. 

So, with an interesting story for how he ended up there, Seonghwa became the Horizon’s medic. A story he never shared, of course—that would be a bit much to drop out of the blue. 

But, this also put him in quite the predicament. Being the only soul onboard the ship with medical knowledge, unraveling the mysteries of their counterparts fell to him. Seonghwa had a counterpart of his own, of course, but he was so scarce in the beginning of his attempts to understand that Seonghwa barely knew him. Everything he learned came in the form of his crewmates sharing information about their side effects, like the inability to travel far from each other, or the manifestation at will, and even their lack of a desire to eat. Only when Seonghwa corrected Hongjoong on his treatment of his own counterpart did Hwa begin to hang around his cabin and workspace. 

They gravitated towards one another in a way unmatched by the rest of them. Their interactions came through short conversation and hours spent in silence together. Once Seonghwa became aware of their counterparts manifesting from a certain part in their lives, it began to make sense. Hwa had spawned from Seonghwa just before his life as a naval office began. Silent and intense, with a brooding stare, he preferred minimal conversation and lacked the same wild tendencies as everyone else. Seonghwa appreciated that, surprisingly; it was much easier to get along with someone who disliked making waves. That didn’t mean he wasn’t curious, however, and everything he began to learn about the Treasure and what it entailed began with Hwa. 

Plenty of things began with Hwa, actually.

It started with a whisper of his name, Seonghwa pulling his gaze from the book he was holding. His eyes landed upon Hwa, who was standing in the middle of the room with his arms crossed and his head cocked to the side. He was dressed in the long coat Seonghwa had lent him, and the hat Jongho had crafted cast a shadow over his eyes via the flickering lantern above him. 

“Seonghwa,” he repeated, a little louder.

“Yes?” He questioned, lowering the book into his lap. 

“May I ask you a question?” Despite the politeness of the request, Seonghwa couldn’t help the feeling of unease that crept within.

“You have asked me many questions,” Seonghwa countered.

Hwa hummed softly. “I suppose I have. This question, however, is … different.”

Seonghwa closed his book entirely, dropping it into the basket of books next to his bunk. He shifted so his legs were dangling off the side, giving his full attention to his counterpart. “Different how?”

“Hmm … we are the same, but we are also different. My memories are the same, to a point. Our feelings are similar, but our reactions vary. Yet we do not have the same interests, nor do we speak the same. For some of us, we are nothing alike,” Hwa murmured, “And I have been thinking. My memories as you—us—end just after the briefing that landed you here. We share the same convictions so, I wish to ask.” Their eyes met, a palpable tension spanning between them. “What changed?”

Hwa didn’t accuse him of anything, nor did he create any assumptions. He left the question hanging between them, an open invitation, one he could walk away from and leave for another time if he so wished it. But Seonghwa had been anticipating the question. Maybe not from Hwa specifically, but he had known it was something that all of his crew were curious over.  _ What changed? Why did you stay?  _

_ We made you a prisoner, and you stayed. _

_ Why? _

His life had been plenty of  _ whys. _

“Hongjoong,” he answered without pause. “Hongjoong, and by extension, everyone.” Seonghwa tilted his head in the opposite direction, folding his hands within his lap. “They became more than sketches on a wanted poster. They became real.”

“So your loyalties shifted.” Hwa drew a finger to his chin. “You—we—have always made rational decisions. If you think becoming one of them, a pirate, was the best choice … then I am inclined to trust you.” 

“Allow me to ask you a question Hwa.”

The hand dropped. “Of course.”

“Would you have done the same?” Seonghwa asked. His voice betrayed nothing, even as the knowledge of his actual motivation hung heavily between them.

Hwa hesitated, appearing to put great thought into how he wished to answer. His eyes traveled down, lips pursing, and Seonghwa realized he thought in the same manner. It was interesting to see your own habits reflected back at you. 

“I don’t know.” A flood of trepidation filled him. “I think … were I to live the exact life you have, in true detail, I would have done anything for money. I spawned with the hardest parts of your life, without ever living through them, so I lack the true emotional register that came with it. I cannot say with certainty that I would have shown Kim Hongjoong and his crew mercy when the time came." Their eyes met, a fire of sorts spanning between them. "What I am currently is nothing alike to who you are now. We share the same face but we do not share the same existence."

The words were deep, cutting into Seonghwa with the feel of a rusty scimitar, but they lacked pain. They were true. Simple as that. 

"The you now is ... better. Kinder. I am ... less so."

"Will you share the reasons for my being on this ship?" Deep within, he knew Hwa wouldn't, but the smallest implication that he could still warranted the question. 

Hwa looked thoughtful for a moment. "No. It is not my secret to share."

"What have you shared, Hwa?" The words spilled from his lips with little hesitation. "In the span that you were not at my side, what were you doing?"

"Learning," he replied without missing a beat. "Learning how to handle your crewmates and their tastes." Hwa's arms unfolded, resting limply at his side. 

Seonghwa felt the atmosphere shift. "Learning how to handle everyone? What drove you to collect that information?"

"Their desires, Seonghwa. You are their medic; surely you are aware of what happens within cabin walls." Hwa's subtle smirk, just the quickest twitch of his lips, did not go unnoticed. "You have plenty of desires yourself. A room can tell plenty about a person." His counterpart drew closer, reaching out to cup Seonghwa's chin and tilt his head back; he resisted the urge to yank it away. "Following Mingi's return, you are the final one. The questions I have been dodging, the ones you have been dying to know ... I can answer them for you."

He eyed the other main warily, leaning back to break the hold on his chin. "Why so suddenly?"

"I know what you're thinking, but that time has finally come, Seonghwa. I am sure you're eager to become whole again." Hwa repositioned his hands behind his back. "Your crew need only complete one more trial, and then the Treasure can be yours."

Seonghwa narrowed his eyes. They were still three trials shy of being done, with months of traveling and restock between each island. As far as he knew, they had only completed a total of four so far. Each trial had called upon someone else, forcing them to complete a grueling set of challenges in the confines of some wet cave; Seonghwa had not been one of them yet. He had a feeling those were not what Hwa was referring to, however.

"What are you talking about?"

"The trials were never random tests of strength on some remote island. The trials were,  _ are, _ us; they always have been."

“The trials are … you?” He asked, staring dumbfoundedly at Hwa’s face; his surprise was not mirrored.

“Yes. The Treasure you seek … well, it’s not really a treasure at all. You must overcome your greatest trial if you wish to see it again.” Hwa paused as if to take a breath. 

Seonghwa mirrored it, air stuttering in his chest. “And what is that trial?”

“Yourself,” Hwa murmured.

“And what does that entail?”

“A conversation, a duel, a moment of bonding—clarity, realization. There are many ways. Your crewmates chose something … much more interesting.”

“Sex,” he replied flatly. 

Hwa’s expression flickered to surprise, before his head tipped back and a laugh spilled from his lips. “Well, it seems you know more about them than you let on.”

“Just as you said, I am their medic; of course I would know. They—  _ we, _ ” Seonghwa corrected, “Are pirates. We’re at sea. We have to find ways to stave off boredom and more … intimate needs.”

“Intimate needs … do you indulge those as well?” Hwa mused.

Seonghwa met the challenge boldly. “We are the same. What do you think?”

“I think,” Hwa hummed, hands reappearing into view, “You have been curious. Since Wooyoung came to you for rope burns weeks ago, your mind has been alive with fantasies and curiosity.” His counterpart smiled at the wide-eyed look on Seonghwa’s face. “Trial or not, I can give you what you desire most, Park Seonghwa. I can give you the fantasy you have been yearning for since the moment you met Kim Hongjoong.”

“You spawned before I met him. What fantasy could that  _ possibly _ be?” Seonghwa questioned, guarded. Here, he understood that Hwa knew more than he was letting on, and he had presented the lack of knowledge as bait to tempt Seonghwa into lowering his defense. Bait that was taken without second thought; he felt foolish for that now.

“You can’t play oblivious now, Seonghwa.” Hwa chose that moment to forth once more, crowding into Seonghwa’s space. The latter leaned away out of instinct, allowing Hwa to place his hands upon the bed and their faces to hover dangerously close. “Tell me to leave, and I will walk out that door,” he murmured, the smell of rum carried with his breath. 

Seonghwa swallowed to chase away the weird sense of nerves that suddenly gathered in his throat. He had never been unsettled, or even nervous, in his life. Here Hwa was, dangling something Seonghwa had barely allowed himself to dream of, right in front of his face. It was enticing, carrying a sense of forbidden excitement that he couldn’t help but follow. The fantasy Hwa had referred to, the thing Seonghwa wanted most … never in his wildest dreams had he entertained the idea of it becoming reality. Even if Hwa only pretended to be Hongjoong, or Seonghwa forgot about it afterward, and it wouldn’t be quite the same … he couldn’t stop the urge to try it out. To test the waters. To feel. It was okay to want, to  _ need, _ right? Hongjoong would never know, and if his wildest dreams ever did manifest, he would be able to step into it with useful knowledge.

Knowledge. Hwa had mentioned learning. He was their medic. He should know how to tend to their needs as well, right?  _ All _ of their needs. Part of him felt foolish for not thinking of that sooner, and another part of him—the rational, non-turned on part—argued that it wasn’t in his job description. But Park Seonghwa was no longer a naval officer. Park Seonghwa was a pirate, and pirates listened to no one, even if that person was their own self. 

Meeting Hwa’s eyes, the tension between them snapped into something much more intense. The atmosphere shifted, and Hwa took the silent invitation. He raised a hand and let his fingers ghost along Seonghwa’s chin, just shy of the grip that would seal his fate. A moment of pause to allow Seonghwa to refuse passed. Though mere seconds in reality, it felt like an eternity, before Hwa finally grasped his jaw in a firm grip and tilted his head back.

Their lips slid together, a foreign press of dominance showing through. Seonghwa, normally so passive with his desires, felt a bit caught off guard. Hwa took advantage of that note of hesitation and worked his lips open. His tongue slid against his own, bringing a rush of exhilaration and the sweet taste of rum; he had definitely been drinking prior. There were no outward signs of that, and Seonghwa had to stave off the part of his brain attempting to fall into medic mode. Hwa did that for him, fingers gripping his hair with a harsh grip. His counterpart pulled away and delivered a particularly hard bite to Seonghwa’s lower lip. 

“Give me a word,” he demanded, voice low and dangerous.

“W-what?” Seonghwa questioned, mind already fogging over. 

“A word. Anything. Give it to me.” 

His brain produced the only thing it could think of: “Rum.”

Hwa laughed, breathy. “This is your fantasy, but if it’s too much, use that. I will stop—I promise you.” Seonghwa managed a nod in Hwa’s grip, and then the momentary show of care was gone. “I’m going to let go of you, and then you are going to strip from the waist down. When you’re done, I want you on your knees on the floor.”

“Yes, Captain.” The words spilled forth before Seonghwa could stop them, and a brow rose in his direction. Hwa gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment, before his expression shifted into something dangerous.

“Hmm, I like that. Who am I, Seonghwa?” His grip tightened as seconds of silence ticked by.

“C-captain,” he managed, hesitant, testing the waters—he passed.

“Good. Now strip.” Hwa let go, a rush of sensation spilling through him. Good, bad, middle ground … he didn’t know. It was just … sensation. The other man stepped back to his original position of the night, crossing his arms while he waited for Seonghwa to obey.

He did so, rising to his feet. His legs shook at their sudden usage and he sucked in a needed breath of air. Seonghwa lowered his hands to his waist so he could fumble around for the strings holding his drawers closed. He undid them with shaky fingers, a little frustrated given his history of steady hands, and allowed the fabric to pool around his ankles. His undergarments followed, the entire pile shoved to the wall to give him full space to work with. Only when his knees landed upon the creaky wood floor did he realize he should’ve snatched a pillow, but it was too late. Seonghwa folded his hands within his lap once more and waited for further instruction.

Hwa continued standing there, just examining him. Time ticked on, bringing an ache into Seonghwa’s bent knees, but he didn’t dare squirm. Instead, his mind recalled the way he had imagined this going for the past few years. How Hongjoong would command him to the floor, work him to his every whim, make him beg, moan, cry, want—he stopped himself there, a shiver passing through him despite the shirt hanging limply around his frame. His lower half had responded to the messy images of his needy thoughts, however, and he moved to cover his growing hardness threatening to give him away.

_ Too late. _

“Don’t hide your need from me,” Hwa scolded, stepping forward. His hands immediately moved away and a smile made itself known on Hwa’s face. “Are you getting hard at the thought of being ruined? That someone might find a use in  _ this? _ ” His counterpart raised his foot then, pressing the tip of the black leather boot he was wearing against the head of Seonghwa’s cock. It looked familiar, but he was a little too preoccupied with  _ where _ it was to care about  _ where _ it came from. He sucked in a sharp breath as Hwa pushed down, trapping his length against his navel. “I bet you have no idea how to even use this thing,” Hwa murmured condescendingly. 

Seonghwa’s hands curled against his thighs, fighting a sudden moan as Hwa readjusted his foot. The smooth bottom of his boot trapped his cock against the cool wood. A whimper of need bubbled from within and Hwa smirked down at him as he applied pressure. He didn’t stop there though and began to move his foot back and forth slowly, taking care to not go too fast. To avoid splinters Seonghwa presumed, as if he truly cared at that moment. No, all his attention was focused on the boot pressing against him and the weird heat accumulating in his stomach. 

“Cling to my leg if you want, but nothing more.” The words were barely spoken before Seonghwa’s hands shot up, one hand wrapping around to grip the back of Hwa’s calf and the other resting tightly below his kneecap. “For someone normally so stoic, you’re an eager little thing.” Hwa leaned forward, Seonghwa whimpering as the pleasure mixed with the smallest tingle of pain. Even so, it felt  _ good. _ His vision quivered, mouth falling open as sweat beaded along his brow. “You will do anything to please your captain, right Seonghwa?”

He nodded, earning a near excruciating bit of pressure upon his aching cock. Seonghwa cried out and Hwa pulled away, only meaning for it to be a punishment. 

“What was that?”

“Y …  _ yes, _ Captain,” he panted, the sound of his own voice startling him. He sounded so desperate,  _ so needy _ , and they had only just begun. 

“Good boy.” Hwa pulled lifted his boot, Seonghwa whining in confusion. “You are bold to assume this is just for you.” His counterpart fiddled with his own drawers, undoing the strings just enough that his own cock could protrude from an opening. It was … interesting to see your own dick before you, presented at a different angle. Seonghwa wasn’t sure if he could file the image away properly, not with the haze threatening to consume him whole, but that was fine; he had a feeling Hwa would do everything in his power to  _ make _ him remember.

Yet, Hwa did not prompt him to do anything. Instead, his own hands reached for his hard shaft, the tip making his mouth water. 

“You will get a treat, Seonghwa, if you behave.” Hwa nudged his thigh with his boot. “You will have to work for it though, and I will not help you. Surely you can manage to get yourself off, hm? Can you do that for me, Seonghwa?”

“W-what?” He managed.

Hwa laughed softly. “You are no fool, my dear little Seonghwa. I did not swipe Hongjoong’s favorite boots for nothing.”  _ Hongjoong’s boots. _ “Ride them. I know you have wished for nothing more since they were bought. Be a good boy.”

Hongjoong’s boots … His gaze trailed down once more, Seonghwa navigating the blur within his eyes. They landed upon the scuff on the right one, and then the white scratch along the side of the left one, and he realized they really were Hongjoong’s boots. Not only had Hwa granted him with the fantasy of his wildest dreams, but he had brought one of the components from the real thing. Upon that realization, he moaned, low and languid and  _ wanting. _

“Yes, Captain.”

Hwa smirked in response, taking himself in his hand and stroking lazily. 

Seonghwa accepted the open invitation and shifted until his tip knocked against the worn leather of the boot, making him wince at the amount of sensitivity already running through him. Only then did he regret not dealing with his desires more. In his chosen position, it left his balls sitting towards the front of the boot, with his shaft curved along the latter part. The strap over the top gave him an idea, and Seonghwa maneuvered so he could slip his cock between it and the cool leather. An excellent choice, the added pressure of it making him gasp softly. He lifted his head then, Hwa’s own length near his head and offering a mesmerizing sight to behold.

Then, without further affirmation or contradiction, Seonghwa finally began to move.

The first slow drag of his hips sent a spark of pleasure up his body. It felt wrong, somehow, to use Hongjoong’s boots and someone who was  _ definitely not him _ to chase euphoria, but he also lacked the ability to care. The only thing that mattered in that moment was how good it felt to rut against the leg he was desperately clinging to. Seonghwa wasn’t sure what to focus on between Hwa jerking off above him or his dick sliding against cool leather. It felt dangerously good, more than he ever could’ve dreamed of, and his body filled with tension quickly.

“Does it feel good to get yourself off at the thought of your captain?” Hwa asked, tongue swiping along his lower lip. His hand began to move quicker, a glisten of pre-cum dribbling from his tip. Seonghwa had a feeling he wasn’t much different. “You’ve only just begun and you look ready to burst. Too long without fun, hm?” His counterpart teased. 

Seonghwa groaned in response, tightening his grip on Hwa’s leg. “Close?” His only reply was a whimper. “Make a mess, Seonghwa. Ruin them. I grant you permission to cum.”

Given that affirmation, he readjusted his position and began thrusting his hips with renewed energy. The friction sent a mix of pain and need through him, sweat dripping down his spine as he fought to chase the orgasm hovering just out of his reach. 

“Cum for  _ me, _ Captain,” he moaned.

_ “Fuck,” _ Hwa gasped, breathy, and Seonghwa felt his leg tremble in his grasp. “Open your mouth,” he growled. Seonghwa obeyed, closing his eyes just in time as cum shot from his tip. It landed along his cheeks and lips, some splattering along his nose and forehead, and he groaned as the salty taste spread along his tongue. He waited a few seconds before he dared to peek, Hwa’s eyes closed and face twisted in pleasure. 

Seonghwa never thought he could look so pretty in the throes of passion.

His tongue swiped around his mouth and he swallowed, before refocusing his efforts upon his own need for release. He rode Hwa’s boot like he was made for it, continuing until his mind couldn’t form a single coherent thought and his movements grew shaky and uneven. Hwa noticed when he drew near, and uttered a single command—cum.

Seonghwa did so, arching into Hwa’s leg with the loudest moan in his entire life. Cum painted the leather moments later, his hands nearly tearing the fabric of his counterpart’s drawers as disjointed cries of ‘captain’ spilled from his lips. He came down from his high slowly, resting his cheek against Hwa’s knee as the sound of panting filled the dimly lit room. 

His first thought as his mind cleared … his legs hurt. How would he explain the cum on Hongjoong’s boots too? A worry for later—

“Let us clean up, and then I will answer you,” Hwa finally murmured. “The others, my crew … they will know you have finished your trial.”

“I passed?” Seonghwa asked, voice slightly hoarse.

Hwa laughed as Seonghwa pulled himself free from the boot, his eyes examining the cum contrasting starkly against the black leather; they’d need to clean it for sure. 

“Of course you passed.” Hwa bent over, hooking his hands beneath Seonghwa’s arms and hefting him up with a powerful strength. He set the medic upon the bed and took the initiative to clean them up a bit. “Regardless of whether we had sex or not tonight, we went through a bonding moment of sorts; you would have passed with that.”

Seonghwa frowned as Hwa cleaned the cum from his face. “So you used sex to  _ your _ advantage then.” It wasn’t an accusation though; he still enjoyed it.

“No. I still wished to indulge in it, given we will grow much, much closer in the future,” Hwa mused.

“I thought you said we would become whole again.”

Hwa hummed softly, fixing him with a soft expression. “My dear Seonghwa, allow me to share with you the true nature of the Treasure, and all it entails.” 

xxx

The Treasure, true to Hwa’s word, wasn’t really a treasure at all.

It was a mythical fountain of legend. The Fountain of Youth, to be precise. There were a few of them actually, scattered all over the world, containing magical properties and guarded by a powerful entity. The one the Horizon’s crew had stumbled upon was the second one created, Seonghwa soon learned, guarded by a minor trickster god for a religion they didn’t even know the name of. It could not grant wishes, but it could grant eternal life. Sometimes they allowed the fountain to exist as a natural spring, offering nothing of significance. For the Horizon’s crew, the trickster god sought something more.

Trials, for lack of a better word. To determine their merit and their worth, and whether they were allowed a precious drink from such a powerful place. A trial to overcome their greatest challenge, just as Hwa said—themselves. It didn’t matter how they overcame each other, though all of them had chosen the route of sex Seonghwa learned, for as long as the minor god was able to see the true color of their souls it would count.

To Seonghwa’s relief, they passed. All of them.

Hojong, much to Hongjoong’s displeasure, set them on course for the original location of their search. The island lacked the oppressive magical force, allowing them onto it without much resistance, and they met with the trickster god within the cave that broke them in half. 

They had spent weeks discussing their wishes up to that point. Weeks of attempting to figure out just what they would ask for. The last few years of their lives, some more than others of course, had been building up to that moment. 

It was offered too, once the god explained his affection for all of them. How he enjoyed their spirit, their love, their loyalty, their desire. That they could exchange eternal life for the wish they had been chasing their entire lives.

Standing there, with the realization that they could have anything, they made their choice.

Eternal life. The chance to be with each other no matter the challenges life presented, with the ability to navigate the world and all it held. A daunting choice, but one they made unanimously, thus sealing the legend of the Horizon and her crew within history books far into the future. One by one, they drank from the fountain, until their bodies became alive with energy. No longer would they need to eat, or drink, or sleep, or even worry about injury. They became something that existed between the living and the dead.

And, as Hwa promised, their counterparts fused back within them, mending their souls and dispelling the weakness that had plagued the eight of them for months. They could call upon them should they so wish, something granted by the god, but they were once again whole. Never had they felt so alive, their bodies thrumming with energy and the realization that they could, truly, achieve anything.

Standing on the shore of the island, watching his crew prepare the boat that would lead them back to the Horizon, Hongjoong smiled.

It was the starting point of their long journey. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly never expected to finish this ... it's been quite the journey to reach this point! this fic has been my baby for almost two months now, and has allowed me to connect with so many people because of it! I know it's porn with a dash of plot, but I can't even begin to describe how much fun this has been for me! thank you for sticking with me, whether from the beginning or the end, or even if you're a new reader! this has been incredible and I'm so excited to finally mark let's make a toast like a thunder as complete!
> 
> thank you so so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I have writing it!!

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twt [@moonswallowed](https://twitter.com/moonswallowed) and we can screech about darkteez
> 
> thanks for reading!!


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